


The Queen's Favorite

by Poppyseed29



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, But like super gentle, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama, Duke!Barry, F/M, Female Gaze, Intrigue, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Queen!Iris, Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poppyseed29/pseuds/Poppyseed29
Summary: To be selected as a concubine to the Queen is considered a great honor. One that Barry never dreamed he would experience.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Iris West, Kamilla Hwang/Cisco Ramon, Leonard Snart/Ray Terrill
Comments: 90
Kudos: 137





	1. Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Working on this concurrently with [Are You Lightning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717584). Where as Are You Lightning is a slow burn, this will be an x-rated WestAllen romp. That, and a chance to invert gender roles and the male gaze. 
> 
> May or may not be slightly influenced by Bridgerton, but only in that there is royalty and sexy times.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Bartholomew Henry Allen, Duke of Wynsingham, took his eggs in the breakfast room of Allen Manor. He broke open the shell of a soft boiled egg, just as his dear friend and visitor, Sir Cisco Ramon, stumbled sleepily into the room.

“Good morning,” Barry greeted him cheerfully. 

“Morning,” Cisco groaned back, holding the bridge of his nose as he sank into a chair next to his oldest friend. 

“Under the weather?” Barry asked innocently with a smile, as a footman brought him the mail on a silver platter.

“You could say that,” Cisco sighed in reply.

“Too much brandy will do that to you,” Barry clucked in mock disapproval as he sliced open the top letter and unfolded it. 

“So will a broken heart,” Cisco moaned. 

Barry chuckled as his eyes skimmed a letter from his actuary, detailing analysis of the estate reforms Barry had proposed. 

He had sympathy for his friend. It was, in fact, the reason he’d invited Cisco up to the estate for the weekend. A hunt and some revelry would undoubtedly help to take Cisco’s mind off of his broken engagement with Lady Cynthia. 

They may have overdone it on the revelry part. 

Cisco’s hand slipped into the tray of letters, digging for something that caught his eye.

“I beg your pardon,” Barry exclaimed, “Is it not considered beyond the bounds of propriety to go through another person’s mail?”

“Calm down,” Cisco replied, unswayed. “We’re basically brothers, anyway.”

“Be that as it may,” Barry huffed, “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Even when it has the seal of the Queen?” Cisco taunted, holding up an adorned envelope with a large, distinct red wax seal. 

Barry’s eyes paused on the envelope. He’d seen several of them before. It usually meant one thing. He watched with strange fascination as Cisco tore open the envelope and read the contents. 

“The Queen is holding in a ball in a fortnight,” Cisco summarized. “All eligible bachelors of the ton are required to attend.”

Barry turned his focus back to sticking a slice of toast into his soft boiled egg. 

The fact that the Queen was hosting a ball indicated one of two things: the first was that she was seeking a concubine. After all, it was the tradition that the monarch would have a variance of dalliances before eventually finding a consort. The second meaning was that she had found one and wanted to show him off. And since the Queen had so recently selected Sir Scott Evans, it was likely the latter. The thought made Barry’s stomach twist in some unnamed fury. 

“You _have_ to come this time,” Cisco insisted. “If I’m going to get back on the horse, I need my best friend by my side. And what better place to do it than at a royal ball?”

Barry took his time to chew and swallow the morsel in his mouth. “Technically, I also _had_ to go last time, too.” But he hadn’t, sending his regrets on account of ‘being ill.’ The truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to watch the Queen fraternize with some half-wit while he never even had a hope of catching her eye. 

“What are you going to do, stay holed up in here for the rest of your life? Alone?” Cisco badgered him.

“Perhaps,” Barry replied, sipping from his coffee.

“Look, she’ll never notice you if you aren’t even in the room,” Cisco pointed out. “And she’ll be looking. Word is, Sir Scott is on his way out.”

Barry swallowed. “He is?”

“Yep,” Cisco sighed. “Didn’t last very long. I wonder what he did to displease her.”

Something hot flooded Barry’s veins at the idea of someone displeasing the monarch. He would do anything to please her if only he were given a chance. 

“All right,” he conceded. “I’ll go.”

❦

Queen Iris surveyed the ballroom from her throne, dressed in a golden gown, her neck adorned with the royal diamonds. The lords and ladies of the ton danced before her, a glittering sea of wealth and privilege. She flitted her fan in front of her face and stifled a yawn. She’d endured so many of these events. They were beginning to grow tiresome. 

Still, she yearned for a new companion — one who fits nicely by her side. Perhaps even one who could rise to the occasion of becoming her consort. But she was beginning to lose hope. With every suitor, she became a little more disillusioned. They entertained her for a time. And at least she could pick the ones she found most pleasing to the eye. But after a while, they all… bored her. 

This time, she wanted something different. 

She scanned the sea of heads. The problem with the ton was that it was insular. She knew all of these faces, and she already had her pick of them. Still, a ball was the only and best way for her to meet people. It wasn’t as if she could simply go down to the local tavern and join in the revelry, no matter how much the thought appealed to her. 

“Any candidates this evening, Your Majesty?” A melodic voice sounded in her ear. It was Leonard Snart, her most trusted servant and advisor. 

“That remains to be seen,” she drawled, still watching the gentry swirling before her. 

“If I may,” Leonard offered softly. “Perhaps focus on the sidelines.”

Iris turned her head to survey her advisor. “The sidelines?” She wasn’t after a wallflower. 

Snart tilted his head while his eyes darted sideways in a subtle motion to the outskirts of the ballroom. 

Iris huffed impatiently as she reluctantly scanned the fringes. As suspected, it was mostly the eccentrics and outliers who could not find a dance partner, mixed with those who had fallen from social graces by way of scandal. 

But no — there. _There_ was something interesting to her. Some _one_. Tall, slender, neat chestnut hair swept perfectly off his forehead, delicate gentile bone structure she could admire from even across the room. She’d seen him before, she was sure. But not lately. 

He appeared reserved, observing the room, just as she did. Every now and again, his green eyes darted up to where she sat as if he couldn’t help himself.

Iris was no stranger to glances. Most eligible, confident men gazed hungrily at her during these events, hoping to catch her interest by sheer force of eye contact alone. She avoided the ones who were _too_ eager. It was easy to spot a sycophant. 

But this, this was different. This man only looked her way when he thought she wouldn’t notice, as if he didn’t want to be caught. _How interesting_ , Iris thought. 

“Who is that?” She asked, pointing to the man with her fan in a brief jab. She watched him with curiosity as he spoke with a slightly shorter, long-haired friend. The friend seemed to be urging him to join the dance floor. The tall one declined. 

“Barry Allen, Your Majesty,” Snart answered. “The Duke of Wynsingham.”

“The Duke of Wynsingham,” Iris repeated. “I have not seen him recently.”

“No, Your Majesty,” Snart confirmed.

“Why is that?”

“He tends to miss the balls where you have already selected a companion,” Leonard explained. 

Iris balked. “But it is the law that all eligible bachelors must attend.” 

“Unless they are in poor health,” Snart clarified.

Iris surveyed the Duke. “He doesn’t look poorly.” 

“No, ma’am.”

“Is he?”

“It is said that he is rather in fine form.”

“Yet, he has missed many receptions, or I would be more familiar with his face.”

“He has sent his regrets citing poor health several times,” Leonard confirmed. 

“Do you mean to tell me he lied? To his _Queen_?” Iris bit at the words.

Leonard was silent, though she could not help but notice an irksome smirk was curling across his cheek. 

“Do I infer from your insight that he was displeased with my other companions?” She asked of her advisor. 

“One could certainly make that inference, Your Majesty.”

“Then I take it that he would prefer my company to yours?” She asked with a smile, always preferring to confirm the interests of potential suitors ahead of time. 

Leonard’s eyes scanned over the Duke’s scarlet jacket and the way it clung to his form. “Regretfully, I think he would be much more interested in your company than mine,” he chuckled.

Iris gave him a long sideways glance and a swat of her fan. She allowed Len the odd jibe from time to time. It amused her. More than that, it indicated that he was always honest with her. Few were so bold to speak to her in such a way. She valued that honesty above all else.

“We will dance,” Iris decided, rising from her throne.

“Very good, Your Majesty,” Leonard replied. “A fine choice.”

Her advisor kept to her side as she descended the dais. It was his responsibility to part the crowd, though they usually did so of their own volition. 

A hush fell over the room as the guests realized the Queen was on the move. Heads turned, and whispers followed as she crossed the room, edging closer to her destination. The crowd seemed bewildered that she had traversed so far. Usually, she would wait until a person of interest had danced quite near the throne. 

Determined to reach her pick, Iris pressed through her surprised subjects, right to the edge of the chamber. 

The Duke of Wynsingham was the most surprised of all. He had been casually sipping his wine, pretending not to notice the monarch’s movements, all the while sneaking glances at her in the same way Iris had observed from the dais. _What a curious man_ , she mused. 

The room fell silent as she paused in front of him. 

Iris watched in amusement as his face went slack in astonishment. 

This was her favorite part, seeing the reaction of her chosen pick. It was telling, the way a man reacted to her. And to date, this was the best reaction by far. She decided to have some fun with him. She turned, just slightly to his friend, and smiled. 

The long-haired fellow gave her an almost equal look of astonishment, quickly followed by what she could only describe as a profoundly regretful, apologetic look at the Duke, whose face had noticeably fallen in utter disappointment. 

Despite how this amused her, she decided not to torture the Duke any longer and turned back to him. The faces of both men were noticeably relieved. 

She waited, smiling. The monarch _never_ asked a person to dance, but it was understood that an invitation was welcome if she presented herself in front of someone. 

Finally, Barry seemed to come to his senses, pressing his wine glass into Cisco’s hand before bowing deeply and extending a hand to his Queen. “Your Majesty,” he spoke, “May I have a dance?”

His voice was gentle but pleasant as if he had rehearsed the words a million times before. Still, she could not help but notice the tiny waver in his tone, like his throat had gone dry. 

“You may,” she replied, slipping her gloved hand into his as he rose from genuflecting. 

With surprising grace, he led her out into the center of the ballroom, where the floor cleared for them. The orchestra played a moderate waltz. She watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing temptingly in his neck while he found her waist with one hand and held hers in his other. 

He held her gaze steadily as they began to turn. Most men couldn’t hold her eyes on the first dance, unsure how to interact with a Queen. She’d assumed that he’d be no different by his previous behavior, so she found this incredibly bold. There was something in his eyes that disarmed her, an intensity and admiration as if he’d yearned to hold her attention for a long time. 

_Then again, if that were the case, why is he still silent?_ She wondered. Then, she kicked herself. He was not permitted to speak until she did. 

“My advisor tells me you missed the last ball on account of poor health,” she said. 

“I am better now, Your Majesty,” he answered. 

They danced with surprising ease. Truth be told, Iris was always fighting the urge to lead. Some men didn’t know how to handle it. With the Duke, she couldn’t tell who was leading. Perhaps she was, or perhaps he sensed this about her and knew exactly how to guide her without her feeling out of control. 

“Are you often ill?” She continued to inquire. 

The color drained from his cheeks, and he did not answer. 

“I am told you have missed a number of Our receptions.”

His grip tightened at her waist, and for the first time, his gaze dropped away from hers. Still, he held her fast, as if he didn’t want to let go. 

“I was unable to attend,” he said at length. 

“You are required to, by law,” she rebuked.

He nodded, still unable to meet her eye. 

“Do I take it that you were not ill but unwilling?” She couldn’t help the edge to her tone.

Barry opened his mouth to speak, finally looking at her again, the apology in his eyes deferential. 

“Have you a secret companion with whom you would rather spend your time?” The Queen interrogated.

“No!” He insisted. “No. There is no one.”

“Then you lied.”

They were silent as they took another turn about the room. He was doing it again — holding her gaze in that intense, saccharine way. At her waist, his hand radiated a heat that flooded her bloodstream in a way she rarely felt. He seemed content in the silence, but she wanted him to keep talking. 

“Are you aware that lying to the Queen is treasonous?” She teased him. “And that treason is punishable by death?” 

He clutched at her still, causing her breath to hitch in her throat as he did. “I would rather die than displease you, Your Majesty,” he breathed, his forehead tilting down to hers in a moment of startling intimacy. 

“Then, let us dance,” she answered softly. 

_There is something about this one_ , she thought as she gazed up into the intensity of his emerald eyes. The heat from his fingers was still radiating through the layers of her gown, his hand like an anchor, holding her firmly but gently, guiding her in circles as they waltzed their way around the room. Everything else seemed to disappear around them. 

_Yes,_ she thought. _This one_. 

❦

“Dude,” Cisco’s voice sounded in Barry’s ear. 

Barry could barely hear him. He stared after the Queen as she returned to her throne. Had that really just happened? Had they danced for four songs, hardly speaking a word, and yet not needing to?

Was she not even going to choose another dance partner afterward, the way she was often wont to do, to disguise her intentions? 

_For real?_ Barry asked himself. _She danced with_ me. _Just me._

“ _Dude!_ ” Cisco exclaimed again, punching Barry’s arm as the crowd filled in around them. 

Curious onlookers glanced their way as they passed, dancing around them. 

“That was amazing!” Cisco exclaimed in a stage whisper. “She came right over to you! And then she looked at me, and I thought for a second — but, phew! I mean, close call, right? Like, obviously, it’d be you she was after…”

The sound of Cisco’s voice registered loosely in the fringes of Barry’s consciousness as he stared dumbly after his sovereign. 

She focused on smoothing the folds of her skirts as she rested on her throne. Then, unmistakably, she looked up, and their eyes met. 

Barry couldn’t breathe. He’d loved her for so long. Since before he’d been presented to society. Since he was a child, attending Court with his father, who was receiving an award from the late King. Barry remembered it well. Sitting beside his parents, looking over the aisle to see the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life, falling in love with her during the reception while he chased her around the banquet hall. 

It was years before he would see her again. Not until he was presented to her late father and out in society. She was still a princess then, but she’d grown into a young woman. When Barry saw that she’d grown even more beautiful, it was not just the innocent recognition of beauty he’d experienced years earlier. It was accompanied by a hunger that frightened him and burned beneath his skin. 

Afraid of his desires and painfully aware of the rules of etiquette, he’d taken steps to make himself less obvious at royal events. As much as he longed for Iris’ attention, he was afraid of how he might act if he had it. He had to learn to be calm around her, first. 

And then, later, her father had passed, and she became the reigning monarch. With the position came certain… privileges — notably, the accepted practice of taking special companions, concubines. 

It was well understood that if a concubine did exceedingly well, they could one day become consort. It was a position many lusted after. 

But not Barry. It wasn’t the position that he sought. It was merely the time and attention of one Iris West that he desired. She wasn’t just Queen to him. She was the queen of his heart, always and forever. 

He’d attended the balls she’d thrown, but in repressing his youthful desires for her, he’d almost forgotten how to catch a woman’s eye. And so he was passed over, for several others including Viscount Edward Thawne and more recently, Sir Scott Evans. Each time it had pained him, but he knew there was little he could do to change things.

Then finally. _Finally_ , she’d noticed him. _Finally_ , he’d been able to hold her in his arms, dance with her, look into her eyes…

“... So you’re going to stick around, right?” Cisco was asking. 

“Hmm?”

“You’re going to stick around. Not leave early like you usually do. In case, y’know. You get the call?”

“Uh — yeah,” Barry answered. He could hardly pay attention, for the Queen had just gestured to her advisor, Leonard Snart. 

Barry watched as Snart bent forward so that the Queen could whisper something in his ear, something that made the advisor smile faintly and nod his head obediently. Then, Snart disappeared off the back of the dais and behind the throne’s curtain backdrop. 

“Hey,” Cisco said. “Hey. Earth to Barry!”

“Hi,” Barry answered, finally snapping out of his reverie. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah,” he answered, noticing for the first time that his hands were shaking. “Did that just happen?”

A smile spread across Cisco’s face. “Yeah, man. She picked you. I’m sure of it. Just wait in a moment Snart will be —”

“Your Grace?” 

Barry jumped at the sound of his direct address. He turned to find Leonard Snart standing behind him, wearing a bemused smile.

“Yes?” Barry replied with trepidation. Was what he thought was about to happen really about to happen?

“Her Majesty The Queen requests the pleasure of your company,” Snart declared. It wasn’t really a question. 

Barry blinked. Beside him, Cisco grinned jocosely and gave him two thumbs up. 

“Do you accept?” Leonard asked, when Barry didn’t say anything.

“Y-yes,” he sputtered. “Of course.”

Snart nodded curtly and motioned that Barry should follow him as he turned on a heel.    
  
Barry glanced at Cisco, who waved him on encouragingly before he followed. Barry looked up at the dais as he followed Snart to see that the Queen had disappeared from her throne. 

His heart pounded madly in his chest as Snart led him out of the ballroom through a service door behind a giant vase of hydrangeas, up a winding stone staircase, then down an ornately decorated hallway and into a smaller throne room. There was hardly a soul in this part of the palace. The chandeliers were dimmed, and little could be heard from the party below. They crossed the final room to a pair of tall, twin white doors with gold trim. Snart twisted the handle and the door opened into a darkened room. The advisor extended a hand, motioning that Barry should enter. 

Barry approached cautiously, not knowing what he would find. Would the Queen be in there?

It turned out to be an intimately sized drawing room, with a roaring fire burning in the hearth along the far side. Its light danced across the walls, illuminating gauzy murals of a pastoral landscape. In the middle, comfortable looking seating had been placed around a low table. The heat washed over Barry, relaxing the muscles he hadn’t noticed were tense with anticipation. 

“Make yourself at home,” Snart suggested.

Barry nodded and sat tentatively on the settee perpendicular to the fire. 

“Her Majesty likes to offer her guests a refreshment, if it pleases you, Your Grace?” Snart asked, crossing the room to an armoire. 

“Thank you,” Barry accepted the offer. 

“Very good, sir,” Snart acknowledged, opening the door to the armoire and retrieving a bottle of champagne on ice. The advisor carefully poured two glasses, then set them on the table in front of Barry. 

“Is this not a bit below your station?” Barry asked, curious as to why the Queen’s most trusted advisor was serving him drinks. 

Snart only smirked. “Her Majesty finds it is a good opportunity for me to evaluate the candidates.”

“I see,” Barry replied. “How am I doing?”

“Well, so far,” Leonard answered. “Although that is primarily based on my background research at this point.”

“Background research?” Barry asked nervously. He racked his brain for anything he might have done that might have reflected poorly upon being background checked by the crown. “What exactly did you find?”

“A tender hearted fellow with a soft spot for the Queen.”

“Oh,” Barry breathed, with a sigh of relief. “I don’t suppose you’d be inclined to give a candidate advice?” He was nervous and eager to please. 

Snart chuckled as he wiped the mouth of the bottle with a handkerchief and placed it back into the bucket of ice. “Let her see you,” he replied. “The  _ real _ you.”

Barry nodded thoughtfully, then watched as Snart left the room, closing the doors behind him. 

❦

Iris emerged from her dressing room into her private drawing-room. Here, she could receive guests in confidence, while keeping the most intimate chambers of her apartments unrevealed. 

As she advanced into the room, the long, royal purple silk robe with which she had replaced her ballgown trailed behind her. Her hair was unpinned, falling in loose curls around her shoulders. The royal diamonds were still strung around her neck. She loved the way they felt against the bare skin of her decolletage. 

Barry stood in front of the fire as she entered, the warm light flickering softly around his tall, lean silhouette. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned to face her. 

She was pleased to see his mouth fall agape as he took her in. She liked that he seemed to be surprised by her. So many men looked at her as though they wanted to devour her, but it was she who wanted to do the devouring. 

In his hand he held a glass of champagne, almost certainly provided by Leonard when he escorted Barry to the room. She noted that he’d taken a few sips, but only a moderate amount. 

“Do you know why it is that you were summoned?” she asked, her voice low and rich. 

Barry watched her steadily. There was a hint of bashfulness in his expression, but she saw no hesitancy as he nodded. “Your majesty requested the pleasure of my company,” he answered in a measured cadence.

Iris hummed in satisfaction. “Indeed.”

She circled him slowly, evaluating her selection. 

“And how was my invitation received?” She asked him. She always made sure she had a willing participant. Power could be coercive, and she didn’t wish to coerce.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously in a way that only excited her further. “May I speak freely?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

“With trepidation,” he answered breathily.

Iris’ face softened. It was not the answer she’d been expecting. Not after the way his hand had felt at her waist, or the way his eyes burned into hers, the way he seemed both to defer to and adore her. 

“I see,” she acknowledged, unable to betray the disappointment in her voice. 

“I was deeply honored, Your Majesty,” he rushed to add. “It’s just —”

She waited patiently as his voice drifted off. “Just?” she prompted. He wasn’t going to reject her, was he?

“It just — seemed folly to dare to hope that I would ever catch your eye,” he said shyly, his eyes dropping to his shoes. 

The disappointment faded, and she found herself watching him adoringly. “Folly?” She mused. “Maybe. And yet, something tells me you hoped, anyway.” She stepped forward into his space as his eyes rose to meet hers. There it was again, that heat. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered. It was as if he couldn’t help but tell the truth, while he would rather have kept it to himself. 

She hummed a knowing sound and stepped back towards the divan, where she lay sideways, her bare legs slipping out from beneath her robe. “Please,” she instructed with a wave of her hand to the settee opposite, “sit.”

Barry obeyed, perching himself on the edge of the seat as if waiting for some other instruction. Yet, while he waited, Iris noticed that he couldn’t help but draw his eyes over her long form.    
  
“You are Barry Allen, Duke of Wynsingham,” she stated. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered in reverence. 

“The Allens...” she mused. “A good family, though dwindling in numbers.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he repeated. “I am all that is left. My mother and father passed, and I have no siblings. Nor did my parents.”

“So the ancient estate has fallen to you, now?” Iris commented, a smile curling on her lips.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered. 

“You know,” she said lightly, reaching forward to the table between them, and picking up the remaining glass of champagne. “My father once hoped to add the Allen estate to his lands. He tried to claim it during the conquest of the west, but he was wounded in battle. It was a Henry Allen who tended to his wounds. He is certain he would have died had Henry not provided him medical care.”

A faint smile passed over Barry’s lips. “My father, Your Majesty.”

“I suppose I should thank you on your father’s behalf, or I might not be here, seeing as this was before I was born. Regardless, my father couldn’t bring himself to appropriate the lands of the man who saved him and so the Allen estate was spared.”

Barry breathed a laugh. “I have heard as much, your Majesty. I owe my title to your late father’s mercy. Were it not for his generosity, I would be titleless and certainly not here now.”

“So you are pleased to be here?” She asked. 

He fixed her with the same intense gaze he’d given her earlier. “I cannot imagine how anyone could be displeased when in your presence, Your Majesty,” he answered in a hushed tone.

A shiver ran up Iris’ spine. If she wasn’t a Queen, she might have blushed. “I am not sure you have answered my question,” she replied at length. “Does it please you to be here?”

“If your Majesty is pleased, then so too am I,” he replied. 

“Barry,” Iris warned. “I am asking how you fe—”

“It pleases me  _ greatly _ , Your Majesty,” he asserted quickly, with such certainty that even Iris was taken aback.

“Please,” she said after a moment, “call me Iris.”

He tested the sound on his tongue, “Iris”. 

She smiled. “So we are in agreement?” 

“Yes, Your — Iris,” he nodded. 

She held out her champagne glass, which he clinked with his own, before they each took a sip. 

“Well, then. Since that is settled,” she began. “I shall desire your company for the week. We’ll see how things go from there.”

She reached for the tiny bell, and the service door next to the fireplace opened. 

“Snart will see you to your quarters,” she said. “I trust your stay will be quite comfortable.”


	2. Wonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few words of context:
> 
> I'm picturing Iris' palace like Versailles. Because why shouldn't our girl have the best?
> 
> I'm borrowing some fictitious country names from the Princess Bride. 
> 
> Nothing about this story is historically accurate, but I hope you'll find it fun, nonetheless.

Barry woke the next morning when a maid drew back the curtains, allowing the sun to stream in and fall on his face. He rubbed at his eyes, opening them to an unfamiliar room, and forgot for a moment where he was. 

He blinked. This wasn’t Allen Manor. 

He let his head loll to the side of his pillow and watched lazily as the maid started a fire in the hearth. It was all coming back to him: the ballroom, the dance, how he was summoned to the Queen’s private drawing-room. He recalled how she’d asked him if it pleased him to be here. He’d barely held himself together, his affections threatening to pour out of him, but he managed to make it through the encounter without breaching decorum. It was a small victory, to say nothing of having caught her eye in the first place. 

Still, he knew that the next week would be the most important. His behavior and ability to establish a rapport with the Queen would decide whether she officially took him on as her concubine. 

With the fire started, the maid silently exited via the service door. Barry breathed deeply, stretched, and threw back the covers on the four-poster bed. As his bare feet touched the cold, hardwood floor, the service door reopened, and Leonard Snart entered with a scroll in his hands. 

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Snart greeted him. 

“Good morning,” Barry replied, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Breakfast will be served in the Morning Room downstairs,” Leonard announced, unraveling the scroll and reading what appeared to be a schedule. “Following this, you’ll meet with the royal tailor who will have you fitted for some clothes at the Queen’s request. Then, you will have a check-up with the royal doctor, followed by lunch with Her Majesty.”

The maid returned, carrying freshly pressed day clothes, which Barry recognized as his own.

“We sent for some of your things last night,” Leonard explained. “It is the Queen’s wish that you feel at home here.”

Barry unfolded the linen shirt and slipped it over his head. “Thank you, Snart,” he smiled. “I expect I will.” 

“I am to ask if there is anything else Your Grace requires,” Leonard continued, turning away to give Barry privacy as he slipped off his undershorts in favor of the fresh pair.

“Will there be coffee at breakfast?” Barry asked with a cheeky grin, having pulled on the riding pants and slipped his feet into his boots. 

Leonard turned and smirked. “Follow me.”

The Morning Room was a small, bright dining room that looked out over the _Grand Perspective_ of the royal gardens. Breakfast was a decadent spread of fruit, pastries, and the finest Arabic coffee. Barry couldn’t help the satisfied groan that sounded in his throat as he tasted the hot drink. That was some fine coffee. 

As planned, he met with the tailor after breakfast. The clothier’s name was Hartley Rathaway, a somewhat handsy young man who’d learned his trade in Central City. Following this, Barry returned to his quarters, where the royal doctor, Caitlin Snow, met him. 

“You appear to be in good health,” the doctor concluded after examining him. “Any pre-existing conditions or family history that I should know about?”

“No,” Barry shook his head. “My parents passed, but it was — not of natural causes.”

Dr. Snow nodded sympathetically and scribbled something in her notebook. 

“May I ask why the check-up was scheduled?” Barry inquired. “Did the Queen truly think I was ill following the regrets I sent for the last ball?”

Caitlin smiled and laughed. “No, Your Grace. It is standard procedure upon the selection of a new companion. Your health is the Queen’s health and all that.”

“Oh,” Barry blushed.

“That, and I am to set out some of the… rules,” Caitlin continued delicately.

“Rules?” He asked.

“For your interactions with the Queen,” the doctor clarified. 

Barry blushed again. The physical nature of the relationship between a monarch and concubine was no secret; he was aware of this. He just wasn’t used to hearing it referenced in so frank a manner. 

“First, the Queen will initiate all physical contact,” Caitlin explained. “If you feel like you absolutely must touch her, you will ask first.”

“Of course,” Barry blinked. He would never have dreamed of touching the Queen without her consent.

“Good,” Caitlin noted. “And should your intimacy progress…”

Barry raised an eyebrow.

“... It is absolutely forbidden for you to spill your seed inside of her. That right is for the consort when he is chosen, and the consort alone.”

Hot blood flooded Barry’s face. “I — I wouldn’t — won’t,” he stammered as his cheeks burned.

“Good,” Caitlin stated with finality as she latched her physician’s bag. “If you have any concerns about your health while you are here, let Leonard know. He will arrange another appointment.”

Still flabbergasted, all Barry could do was nod as the doctor took her leave. 

❦

The Queen rapped her nails on the dining table. It was a little past noon, and Barry should have joined her for lunch five minutes ago.

“He is just finishing up with the doctor, ma’am,” Leonard reassured her as she waited impatiently. 

Not a moment later, a footman opened the door to the dining hall and allowed the Duke to enter. The sight of him looking smart and tall in his riding clothes pleased her immensely, easing the annoyance she’d felt only a moment ago. 

“Good morning,” she greeted him as he sat across the long table from her. “I trust you slept well?”

“I did, Your Majesty,” he answered with a warm smile. The sight made something flutter in Iris’ stomach, and she found herself returning the grin almost uncontrollably. 

Iris caught her breath and cleared her throat. The Queen was _never_ not in control. How was it that this gentle, bashful man made her head feel light? She resolved to ignore the feeling, keep it at bay. 

“Please,” she reminded him, “I said you may call me Iris.”

A flush rose to his cheeks and his eyes dropped as a servant placed a soup bowl in front of him. “Forgive me,” he replied. “It will take some getting used to.”

“Do you not wish to be personally acquainted?” Iris teased.

“On the contrary,” Barry answered, his gaze steady across the table. “I should very much like to know you personally.”

Heat rose to Iris’ cheeks, which she disguised by focusing on spooning some soup to her mouth. 

“What I mean to say,” the Duke continued, growing flustered, “Is that it is perhaps... usual for those who are newly acquainted to take some time to get to know one another, truly. And your given name feels like an address that I should earn.”

Iris melted. What a thing to say! Her previous companions had no qualms about immediately using her name once she offered. She’d never given it a second thought, yet here was Barry Allen, Duke of Wynsingham, telling her he thought he should have to earn the privilege. 

“All right, _Your Grace_ ,” she needled. “You may address me in a way you feel you have earned.”

He nodded with a soft smile. They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally smiling across the long table as the servants brought them a second course of duck and root vegetables from the palace gardens. 

“I understand that you enjoy a good ride,” Iris announced as Barry raised his water goblet to his lips.

He choked at the proclamation, sputtering some water before quickly recovering, then dabbing his mouth with a napkin. 

“We have the largest stables in Florin,” Iris continued, unphased. “You would have your pick of the steeds. It is my habit to ride after lunch. Will you join me?”

Barry’s eyes lit up. “I’d be delighted.”

“Excellent,” Iris smiled. “It will give me a chance to tour you through the grounds.”

❦

After lunch, Barry followed Snart down to the stables and waited for Iris to arrive. The Duke surveyed the horses under the advisor’s watchful gaze. In return, a deep brown mare eyed Barry, nudging him with her nose when he looked like he was about to pass her by. He paused and touched a hand to her muzzle, petting her as she whinnied softly in approval. 

“Beware of that one,” Iris’ voice announced behind him. “Jezebel pretends to be sweet, but she has _quite_ a saucy side.”

Barry turned and promptly dropped his jaw. The Queen had changed out of her dress and was wearing _pants_ . He could see the form of her legs, _all_ of them, including the curve of her hip and the round of her bottom. He gulped. 

“What?” She smiled. “Never seen a woman in pants before?”

Come to think of it, Barry wasn’t sure that he had. He shrugged, trying to look indifferent. 

Iris chuckled. “It’s more practical for riding,” she explained, as she approached a white speckled Arabian a few stalls down. “Sidesaddle is so…” she shook her head and let her voice trail off. 

The mare at Barry’s side nudged him impatiently, seeking more of his attention. Iris was right; there was something a little wild in Jezebel’s eyes. Still, Barry found himself drawn to the horse. “I think we’ve established a rapport,” he said fondly, patting the horse’s cheek.

“Well, saddle her up if you wish,” Iris answered as she opened the gate to her mare. 

Barry did as instructed, then led Jezebel out of her stall and into the open courtyard beyond. The Queen followed soon after, leading her white horse by the reins. He noted that the horse’s back was bare.

“Do you ride without a saddle?” He asked Iris. 

“Just around the grounds,” she answered with a smile. “Meredith doesn’t like to be confined.”

“What woman would?” Barry replied jovially.

Iris laughed as she mounted her steed. “Quite right.”

Barry climbed up onto Jezebel, who promptly began trotting him in circles. “Whoa,” he soothed, patting her crest and tugging gently at the reins. “Whoa, there. Shh…”

Beside him, Iris giggled. “Are you sure you know what you are getting yourself into?” She asked. 

But Barry was already soothing the impetuous horse, who quickly decided that she didn’t mind having him on her back after all. He flashed the Queen a confident grin. “Quite sure,” he beamed, gaining control and pulling up alongside the monarch. 

They made their way down the courtyard, out into the gardens, and followed the main avenue that led through the manicured grounds. Iris pointed out the features that her father had added and described her plans for the future. Barry listened intently, memorizing the way she spoke and the dreams she had for the palace. 

“Tell me more about Wynsingham,” Iris ordered as she led them through a geometric garden. “How is it that it is the only province in Our kingdom to have its own _parlement_. Why such unique independence?”

“The land has a contentious history,” Barry answered as he guided Jezebel around the edge of an espalier hedge. “And the people have always had an independent streak about them. During the War of the Starlings, Guilder seized the territory from Florin in a campaign that laid waste to the countryside. Since then, both nations have laid claim to Wynsingham, sparking off smaller yet no less deadly conflicts at a great cost to the people. The people of Wynsingham rebelled against the iron fist of Guilder, and, thus weakened, Florin regained the territory. 

“To both mend fences and secure its borders, your grandmother, Queen Esther of Florin, offered the people of Wynsingham their own _parlement_ , through which they could govern themselves internally, in exchange for loyalty to the Crown. In this way, Florin built a strong bulwark against any further incursions from Guilder, one based on both the loyalty of Wynsingham's people and, of course, the military strength of the Crown. But surely, Your Majesty knows this history already.”

“I do,” Iris smiled. “But it interests me to hear it directly from the Duke of Wynsingham. He has been strangely absent from my Court, given that he is the official head of that _parlement_.”

She shot him a teasing look, which Barry dodged by pretending to be interested in the blooming daffodils underfoot.

“There are better statesmen than I who can represent Wynsingham to the Queen,” he answered sheepishly. 

“I have met them,” she replied knowingly. “How then, do you meet the duties of your title? You must have quite a lot of free time if others represent you in matters of state.”

“I concern myself with the welfare of my people,” he answered simply. 

Iris eyed him quizzically. “Are your peoples’ interests not tied to state interests?”

Barry pondered how best to reply. “I dedicate myself to the improvement of their daily life. After decades of conflict, Wyndsingham’s once beautiful lands were ravaged, our population decimated, our fields barren. It has taken two generations for the province to heal, but there is more work to be done. I employ a friend by the name of Sir Cisco Ramon, a genius inventor, to improve the quality of farming so that every family may have food on the table, crops to sell, and a roof over their heads. It is my wish that all the people of Wynsingham may have their needs met, that they may pursue some happiness in life, and that the province may be restored to its former glory.”

Their horses tread forward at a lazy pace as Iris reflected. “My father thought Wynsingham to be the most beautiful province in all of Florin,” Iris remarked. “Despite its troubled past.”

“He had good taste, Your Majesty,” Barry answered.

“It all sounds like noble work,” Iris added. “But, how is it achieved?”

“We employ mechanized agricultural tools so that the work of ten may be done by one. The percentage of crop success has also increased dramatically as a result of our reforms.”

“I should like to see these machines,” Iris commented. 

“It would be my honor to show them to you one day,” Barry replied with a grin. 

❦

Throughout dinner and the card game that followed, Iris found herself more and more intrigued by Barry. There was something easy in the way he carried himself, something that felt strangely familiar to her. 

He had these funny little habits that she found endearing: the way his eyes lit up, and he spoke with his hands when he was describing something that excited him; the way the flush in his cheeks ran all the way down to his collar when he was bashful; the way he rubbed his hand at the back of his neck when he was nervous.  
  
She found she could read him and provoke these tics in a way that brought her great pleasure. She also found herself wondering how far the blush spread down his chest when he was aroused. She was quite confident she could make him flush terribly. _Oh_ , she mused, _Wouldn’t that be fun_. 

She was driven to distraction, picturing what he might look like when he was laid bare across her bed, the way his eyes might flutter closed and his mouth turn pink as it hung open in a gentle gasp...

But she should really have been paying more attention to the card game they were playing with Snart and her handmaiden Kamilla, because Barry was surprising her in other ways. 

She stared at the terrible hand she’d been dealt. Not wanting to be outdone, she threw in another chip. 

Across the table, Barry was beaming. He had a terrible poker face, and yet it didn’t seem to be affecting his luck. 

“Royal Flush,” he proclaimed happily, laying his cards out on the table when his turn came.

Kamilla and Snart groaned, folding immediately, then watching the Queen with apprehension.

Iris stared down at her cards. “I — I lost,” she said in disbelief, revealing her poor hand. 

Beside her, her attendants sucked in sharp breaths. 

“What?” Barry asked innocently, the triumphant smile falling from his face. 

Snart cleared his throat. “Her Majesty is the reigning champion,” he explained, his tone implying that they always let her win. 

Barry blinked in confusion. “But then… how will your game ever improve?” 

Iris’ eyes narrowed. “My game is strong,” she answered, rising from the table. The others rushed to follow suit. 

“I’m sure it is,” Barry replied, rounding the table to reach her as she began to walk towards the door. “Hey,” he coaxed. “Hey, Iris.” He reached for her elbow. 

Shocked, she paused and looked to where he was holding her. 

“It’s just a game,” he was saying in a kind voice that Iris found irritatingly soothing. 

She knew it to be true, knew she wasn’t really mad at him, but he didn’t have to know that. 

“We can play again?” He suggested.

“I am finished playing for the evening,” Iris answered, moving towards the door. 

“Tomorrow then?” He called after her.  
  
“Perhaps,” she said, exiting the games room door as a footman held it open for her.

She let him worry for a time, slowly indicating the next day that he still had her good graces.

They kept to a routine of activities in the days that followed, meeting for lunch, riding through the gardens in the afternoon, followed by dinner and cards. He still wouldn’t let her win unless she’d earned it, but Iris found she couldn’t stay mad. 

❦

  
Friday arrived sooner than Barry anticipated. To match his mood, a thick mist hung over the palace grounds. The air felt heavy like it might rain. He wondered as he saddled Jezebel after lunch if he should have let the Queen win at cards. Would she decide he wasn’t the right candidate over something so trivial? He wanted to think there was more to her decision than that, but he couldn’t be sure. She’d been hot and cold with him since. 

“Shall we venture further today?” Iris asked, business-like, as she entered the stable.

“Further it is,” Barry answered, leading Jezebel out of her stall. 

They galloped across the inner grounds, following the main avenue out towards the small lake and woods that lay beyond. 

“So what is it that you do when you turn down an invitation from the Queen?” Iris pressed him as they reached the shore of the lake, and their horses slowed to a leisurely pace.

Barry huffed a laugh. “I take it that I am not forgiven?” 

“Far from it,” Iris smiled. 

“Well,” Barry began, his eyes scanning outward to the horizon. “Usually, I would read a book by the fire and wish that I was in the presence of Her Majesty. I may even sip a glass of brandy if I’m feeling particularly sorry for myself.”

Iris laughed. “Then why not join the ball, if you are so sad to miss it?” 

“I attended last Saturday, didn’t I?”

“You know what I mean,” Iris rolled her eyes. “The other times.”

Barry sighed. “May I be frank?”

“By all means.”

“There didn’t seem to be much point in attending. You’d already chosen another.”

“Not as my consort,” Iris countered. “I could have changed my mind.”

“And I am glad that you did, Your Majesty,” Barry answered honestly, giving her a grateful smile. 

Iris held her horse back for a moment and scrutinized him. “You are a perplexing man, Barry Allen.”

“Am I?” He asked, squinting as he shielded his eyes from the sun that was cresting over her head. “I rather thought I was fairly straight forward.”

“You sometimes speak as if I was destined to notice you,” Iris remarked. 

He shook his head. “More like waiting for you to recognize a childhood acquaintance,” he answered.

The Queen studied him. “Is this why you seem strangely familiar to me? You mean to tell me that we’ve met before?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Barry replied.

Iris looked thoughtful as she racked her brain, trying to remember him. She shook her head as she came up short. “I’m not certain,” she answered. “But I get the sense it was a long time ago.”

“It was,” he confirmed. “Do you recall a little boy chasing you around a Royal Honor Awards reception when you were… oh… eleven or so?”

Iris brought her horse to a halt. “That was you?” She asked incredulously. 

Barry just grinned. 

“No man has ever been so bold with me as that little boy,” Iris recounted. “You tried to kiss me!”

“I may have,” Barry laughed. 

“I punched you in the gut.”

“My ribs have never truly recovered,” he teased. 

They paused along the shore of the lake. Iris brought her horse alongside Barry’s so that she could face him. 

“Did I scare you off?” She asked him, her tone growing serious.

“Hardly,” he grinned back. 

She smiled. “Why were you trying to kiss me? Or did you try that with all of the girls?”

“What other girls?” He asked, dead serious.

The Queen gazed at him, evaluating his sincerity. 

Barry held her eyes, trying to tell her what he could not say. He could have stayed there forever, communing wordlessly. 

Jezebel, on the other hand, was not fond of all of this standing around. Without notice, she reared up with a blaring squeal. “Whoa, girl,” Barry called, as he held on, trying to balance in the saddle. He almost managed it, too, until Jezebel decided that she’d had enough and kicked out her hindquarters, bucking him from his seat and throwing him sideways into the water. 

With a splash, he hit the shallow bottom of the lake on his side. The water broke little of the impact, and he took the brunt of it with his shoulder. 

He groaned as he surfaced and watched as Jezebel tore off down the avenue at a gallop, back towards the palace.

“Barry!” The Queen exclaimed, clambering down from her horse and rushing to him. “Are you all right?”

He grimaced as he managed to sit up. “I’ll survive,” he answered. 

“Are you wounded?” Iris asked, her palm resting on his chest as he crawled to the shore. 

“Just my pride,” he answered reticently, slowly clambering to his feet. “I swear I’m good with horses.”

Iris breathed a relieved laugh. “You’ve done exceedingly well with her this week. Jezebel is a special case. Most suitors ask Snart which horses are the tamest, but you… just jumped right in.”

“Perhaps foolishly,” Barry laughed at himself, doubling over and resting his palms on his knees.

“Can you walk?” 

He took a few steps, a pained expression involuntarily spreading across his face as he realized he’d not only hit bottom with his shoulder but also his hip. 

“No,” Iris concluded. “You’ll ride back with me. Don’t worry; Meredith is quite docile. Can you mount?”

“Yes,” Barry answered. “I’m all right, really. See?” He managed to pull himself up onto Meredith without making a fool of himself, then offered his hand down to the Queen.

“Don’t strain,” she answered, swatting his hand away and mounting in front of him herself. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered, feeling the burn of embarrassment flush his cheeks. 

“Hold on tight,” Iris ordered, “We’ll get you back quickly.” 

Obediently, Barry clutched Iris’ waist as she led Meredith to a brisk canter back up the avenue. His wet clothing stuck to his skin, made cold by the wind as they rode forth. To add insult to injury, the fog thickened around them until finally, fat drops of rain beat down from the sky. 

Thankfully, it was hard for Barry to focus on his discomfort. The sweet scent of Iris’ skin and hair wafted back to him in the breeze. The horse pressed on. Just a few days ago, he couldn’t possibly have dreamed of being this close to her, with the feel of her hip bone so indisputable beneath his fingers. He clutched tighter at her waist upon realizing the placement of his hands. 

Iris leaned forward as she urged her mare on, and Barry could only follow. The soft round of her bottom bucked up into his hips in an aggravating rhythm, while his chest pressed forward into her back. He fought for absent breath that had nothing to do with his injuries and everything to do with the friction between them as they rode in time with the horse’s gallop. Barry held her tighter still, his arms unconsciously wrapping around her waist as he pressed his cheek to the side of her neck. 

He could feel the quick pace of her heart as he held her, the quick, shallow breaths she took as they raced across the grounds. 

All too soon, they reached the courtyard of the stable. Barry held on to Iris even after they’d halted. She was warm in his arms, and he was reluctant to let go. They both heaved, trying to catch their breath, cheeks wind bitten from the ride. 

Iris touched a hand to his arm, still strong at her waist, and rested her head back on his shoulder. “Are you all right?” She asked softly. 

“Yes,” he answered breathily in her ear, almost catching her lobe in his lips. 

She nodded, patting his hand, and he released her.

At the gate to the stables, Snart and Kamilla had caught Jezebel upon her return and were trying to calm the bothered mare. 

“Leonard,” Iris called as she dismounted. “Fetch Caitlin. Barry’s had a fall. Kamilla, draw the baths, would you? We’ll need the warmth after this rain.” 

“I’m all right,” Barry insisted quietly to Iris. “I don’t want to make a fuss.”

“It’s not a fuss,” Iris said firmly as she reached up to help him down. 

He let her lead him to a bench inside the stable, where he rested his head back against the stable wall. Iris placed a hand on his shoulder and watched him with a worried look. 

Snart returned a few minutes later with the doctor, who quickly examined him for broken bones. 

“I’m all right, truly,” he insisted. 

“Thankfully, you appear just to be bruised,” the doctor agreed. “To be on the safe side, we should monitor for internal bleeding. If you feel any weakness, numbness or tingling, or have difficulty swallowing or vision changes, we’ll need to know right away.” 

Barry nodded. 

“And you’ll need to get out of these damp clothes and into something warm.”

“I can help with that,” Kamilla announced, having returned. “The baths are drawn, Your Majesty.”

“Very good,” Iris answered. “Thank you, Kamilla. I’ll see him there myself.”

Iris helped Barry to his feet and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. 

“I’m fine, really,” he repeated. “See, I can walk.”

“It’s all right, Barry,” the Queen replied. “Come with me.”

She led him back inside the palace and up the stairs, heading in what he thought was the direction of his quarters. But just when they should be turning left, they kept going up the stairs.

Iris led him through the back door of her private drawing-room, on to her receiving room, her bedroom (which he eyed with interest), her dressing room, and then finally into what appeared to be her bathing room. 

It was handsomely decorated, with its own fireplace and two of the largest brass bathtubs Barry had ever seen. They were arranged parallel to one another, separated by a large, square tufted ottoman where fresh towels were neatly placed within easy reach of the tubs. 

Steam rose from the surface of the full basins. The water was lavishly garnished with rose petals and lavender. 

Iris let Barry’s arm slip from her shoulder and took him by the hand. She led him into the center of the room by the ottoman. “Here,” she said softly, reaching for his collar. 

He looked down at her, watching intently as she slowly unfastened his shirt, her hands sliding up over his shoulders and pushing the fabric back. 

“Does it hurt?” She asked, looking up into his eyes as she peeled the garment from his injured shoulder.

“No,” he breathed, with a slow shake of his head. 

She pulled the shirt out of his waistband and let it fall to the floor. He nudged their noses together gently as she reached for the button on his pants. 

Did she even know what she was doing to him? He’d been half hard since the ride back, but now that they were alone, and the heat from the fire was lapping at the bare skin of his back, he couldn’t help himself. After all, the woman he’d loved from afar for so long was carefully undressing him. The blood surged into his cock as she pulled down his pants, kneeling seductively as he stepped out of them. 

❦

In many ways, Iris had been waiting for the right moment to get Barry alone. And if he required a little tender care after being thrown from his horse, she intended to make the most of it. 

She crouched before him, a gesture she rarely made for anyone, and examined with interest the tented fabric of his undershorts. “Is this for me?” She asked cheekily, her voice little more than a whisper as she rose to her feet and gently palmed him over his shorts. 

His lips parted in a soft sigh. He looked so tempting like that, she thought. 

Succumbing to her urges, she wrapped a hand around his neck, pressed up on her toes, and captured his open lips in a lingering kiss. She tugged gently as she pulled away. He seemed dazed, his eyes closed, his mouth still pouted in a kiss. 

His skin was cool beneath her touch, reminding her why they’d come here in the first place. As much as she wanted to continue, she knew he needed to get into the warm water. 

She slipped her fingers under the waistband of his undershorts and pulled them down his legs, revealing the prettiest, longest cock she’d ever seen. She suppressed the urge to moan. “You don’t disappoint, _Your Grace_ ,” she teased. 

A proud smile flitted across his face.

She took his hand and guided him towards the steps leading up to the tub. She held on as he ascended, admiring his tall, lean body. The musculature of his chest rose and fell like it was carved from marble. The strength of his legs and the shape of his glutes spoke of practised athleticism. 

He touched a toe to the water, gauging the temperature, before stepping down into the basin and sighing. She watched as he relaxed against the headrest and closed his eyes. 

Her skin yearned to be free from the rain-damp fabric of her clothes, and so she moved towards the second tub and began to disrobe. 

“You are beautiful,” Barry whispered behind her.

She turned her head over her shoulder and gave a small smile. “I’m sure you are obliged to say so of your Queen,” she answered, climbing the steps to the basin. 

“I mean it,” he replied. 

She sank into the water, her head resting opposite Barry’s so that she could see his face. He was giving her that look that lit a fire under her skin. 

“I’ve thought so for a long time,” he added before closing his eyes and resting.

Something melted inside of Iris. It was hard, in her position, to know when a person was sincere. But something about the way Barry said it made her feel like it was true. Like he really meant every word. 

She closed her eyes and let the water warm and relax her muscles.

They soaked until the water cooled. Barry sat up in his tub, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees, causing the rose petals and lavender to swirl around him. Iris watched him as he contemplated the flames dancing in the hearth. She loved the way the light played on his face, how it reflected in his eyes. 

“How do you feel?” She asked, resting her arms on the side of the tub with her chin on her hands. 

“Better,” he replied. 

“Not sore?” She asked. 

“No,” he answered softly. 

“Good.” 

With the water growing cold, she was eager to get out. She rose, letting the water drip off of her body, standing unabashed for a moment before descending the steps to reach for a towel. 

Barry watched, dumbfounded, before coming to his senses and following her lead, sloshing the water from his tub as he exited. “Could we make this part of the daily routine?” He asked with a smirk as he toweled off, then secured the cloth around his hips.

Iris smiled but didn’t answer as she wrapped the towel around her shoulders and held it fast beneath her chin. She wanted him to come closer and told him so with her eyes. 

Having received the message, Barry stepped toward her. “May I help?” He asked, extending a hand toward her. He took the towel from her shoulders as she nodded and drew it gently over her skin wherever water remained. 

While he worked, she reached out to untuck the cloth from his waist, curious to see more of his beautiful length. He was growing hard again, and she watched with anticipation as a flush rose up his chest and into his cheeks. This was going to be _such_ fun. She grasped his cock in one hand, stroking slowly while holding him steady at the hip with the other. 

“May I touch you?” He whispered urgently. 

She nodded and he dropped the towel from his hands, reaching for the back of her neck and pulling her nose to his.

“Kiss you?” He asked again, nudging their noses together. 

She answered with a soft peck at the corner of his mouth, which he returned in earnest. She rubbed him steadily, wanting to tease him until he was writhing and shaking. She loved this, bringing a man into a fervor, and with Barry, she knew it would be a particular delight. 

The thing was, the Queen was unaware of how long Barry had yearned for her, of the depth of the passion she was awakening as she caressed his manhood, of the burning desire growing inside of him as he kissed her hotly. 

His eagerness surprised her as he mouthed sensually at her neck, his arms coming to wrap around the small of her back and pull her up so that he could suck at her collarbone. 

Iris let out a gasp, which did nothing to cool his desire. He pulled her flush against him, the feel of his skin on hers making her weak in the knees. She buckled, unintentionally, but not unwillingly, into his embrace, letting him lay her back against the ottoman. There, he hovered over her, trailing kisses down her torso until he was kneeling before her. 

His hands were strong on her as he hitched her knees over his shoulders and mouthed sloppy kisses down the inside of her thigh. He caressed her skin with his tongue as he went, inching ever closer towards her center. 

Iris let her head rest back into the plush of the ottoman as Barry drew his tongue up over her mound. He was making these _noises_ , these deep, satisfied groans as he licked into her. She shivered beneath him. It felt amazing; his hot wet tongue against her folds, steady but unrelenting. 

She propped herself on her elbows to watch, threading her hand through his locks and tugging gently. He hummed deeply, swallowed, then returned to his work, determined and utterly lost in his endeavor. 

❦

Barry knew he should let the Queen lead, but as soon as he started kissing her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself. He wanted to make her feel good, wanted to know what she tasted like, wanted to lick her into oblivion. _God_ , just the taste of her on his tongue could be enough to make him cum, but he was feeling greedy and intoxicated, so he wrapped a hand around himself as he worked, pleased to hear her whine as she watched him do it. 

She was so wet, so warm and so good. He’d wanted to do this forever. He lapped and licked at her sweet folds until she was gasping, clenching, and crying out his name. The sound of it was a symphony to his ears, trembling through him like a wave, the pressure building in his head until he crested, spilling onto the floor before him. 

Above him, Iris heaved, still moaning softly as he coaxed her down from her high, gently licking until she shivered in sensitivity, and he relented.

They settled, still panting. Barry rested his cheek against her inner thigh as she lay motionless with her arm over her eyes. He pressed a kiss to her skin and stroked her other leg with the open palm of his hand. 

The room grew quiet, the only sound the hiss and crack of the wood in the fire. 

“I couldn’t bear it,” he said in a low voice, still resting his head against her leg. 

“Hmm?” Iris murmured. 

“I couldn’t bear it,” he repeated. “Seeing you with the others. I wanted to be with you. Whether you were Queen or not.”

Iris sat up and looked down at him, something like sadness in her eyes. He looked away, feeling vulnerable. 

_Why_ would he even say that? Was he an idiot? He scolded himself. The Queen wouldn’t want a lovesick puppy. 

They were quiet until there was a soft knock at the door. Quickly, they reached for the towels to protect their modesty.

Iris called, “Come in,” when they were decent. A maid and footman entered, bringing a robe for each of them. 

Before Barry knew what was happening, the maid was ushering Iris back to her dressing room. All he could do was stare hopelessly after her and curse himself for being such an idiot. 

“Sir?” The footman asked gently. 

Barry turned to see the attendant with his hand on the open door to the back hallway. 

“Right,” Barry said with a sigh, before following the young man back to his quarters. 


	3. Song For No One

Barry paced agonizingly back and forth at the foot of the bed in his chambers. The soft glow of dawn just appeared on the horizon, but he hadn’t slept a wink. He was filled with restless energy. 

It was Saturday, a week since the Queen had invited him to stay. And he’d screwed up majorly. 

He replayed all his mistakes over and over again in his mind as he ambulated, pausing only to bite his nails or thread his hands through his hair in frustration. 

Perhaps his first mistake was not attending all of the balls in the first place. Could she ever forgive him? And then there was the card game. How could he be so stupid? He should have just let her win. Next, he’d been thrown from his horse in a horrible, mortifying moment. Not to mention, he’d let his desires get the best of him, disregarding the rules of contact and seeking to pleasure her in the way that _he_ had wanted. And to top it all off, he’d all but confessed his long-standing feelings for her. 

What had he been _thinking_? Clearly nothing. 

He’d always known that he wouldn’t be able to handle himself around her, and here he was, realizing that same prediction.

It probably didn’t help that upon returning to his quarters yesterday evening, he’d indulged in a little too much brandy in an attempt to ease his nerves. He may or may not have still been a little drunk. 

How could he ever go on knowing that he’d had his chance and ruined it? How could he go on knowing what she tasted like and that he’d never have her again? 

His chest ached in agony. 

If he could only have the chance to make amends… but it was probably too late for that. Today she would make her decision, and Barry had a sinking feeling that he knew what it would be. 

By the time the sun had risen, and the maid arrived to light the fire in his hearth, Barry had worked himself into a state. 

He pretended to lay in bed so that Snart would not see how distressed he was when he arrived. To his disappointment, it wasn’t Snart who appeared to his disappointment, but rather the same attendant who had seen him to his room the previous evening. 

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the attendant greeted him. 

“Is Snart not to meet me this morning?” Barry asked, an unintentional edge to his tone. 

“No, Your Grace,” the young man answered, setting fresh clothes down at the foot of Barry’s bed. “Snart is otherwise occupied this morning.”

Barry cursed. Surely that wasn’t a good sign. 

He noted that the clothes brought to him were the ones he’d arrived in the night of the ball. _Fuck_. 

He scrubbed his hand over his face. 

“Is the Queen available?” Barry asked. “I’d like to speak with her.”

The attendant gave him a weak smile. “I’m afraid Her Majesty has a prior engagement this morning. Does Your Grace wish for my assistance dressing?”

Barry shook his head, trying to swallow the lump growing in his throat. “No. I’m fine. Thank you.”

He ate his breakfast in the Morning Room, slowly savoring what he was sure would be his last meal at the palace. He stared longingly out the windows at the _Grand Perspective_ , saying a silent goodbye to the grounds where he’d spent the best week of his life. 

As he finished his meal, another attendant entered the small dining room, “Sir Snart would like to speak with you, Your Grace,” the man announced. 

Barry’s stomach dropped at this news, but he nodded automatically and followed the servant out of the small dining room and down the hall. 

The attendant turned ahead, and Barry followed, surprised to find they had entered the Hall of Mirrors. He faltered for a moment, his eyes drawn to the ceiling and around the beautiful, ornate reception room. It was designed to inspire awe and proclaim the splendor of the crown. It should have been a pleasure to walk through. Instead, Barry felt like he was marching to his death. He might as well have been. His soul was undoubtedly about to be crushed. 

Every step felt heavy, his heart pounding in his ears like a drum, the rattle of his breath in his chest an insistent tambourine. 

He felt like crying out, but he couldn’t. He knew it wouldn’t do anything to change his situation. 

He focused on placing one foot in front of the other, held his wrists behind his back, and followed the attendant’s tread ahead of him. Steadily, he trudged — one foot, then the other. 

As they reached the other side, the attendant turned again down a long hallway. They passed room after room, meant for private receptions and audiences with the monarch. In one chamber, a round council table was the singular focus. 

Finally, at the end of the hall, they arrived at an office. Behind the desk, placed at an angle diagonally opposite the doorway, stood Leonard Snart.

The Queen’s advisor looked to be in a particularly jovial mood. “Ah, thank you, Ray,” he acknowledged the attendant.

“My liege,” the man answered with a warm smile and a nod before he turned to take his leave.

“Actually, Ray,” Leonard called after him. “Would you stay for a moment?”

Ray clicked his heels to attention and stood tall by the door. 

“Thank you for coming, Your Grace,” Leonard said, inviting Barry to the chair opposite his desk with a wave of his hand.  
  
Barry obliged, trying to hide that his stomach was twisting with anxiety. He couldn’t help but notice a trunk was placed conspicuously at the side of his room. Perhaps it contained his belongings, ready to be returned to Allen Manor. 

“Is everything well, Your Grace?” Leonard asked, surveying him. “Are you injured from your fall?”

Barry cleared his throat and shifted in the chair. “I — uh — had some trouble sleeping — a bit sore,” he motioned vaguely to his shoulder. 

“Shall I send for the doctor?” 

“No,” Barry shook his head. “I will recover.”

Leonard nodded. “Very good, Your Grace.” The advisor rounded the desk and sat on the front edge, folding his hands in his lap. He seemed to be considering how to say something, delicately. “Her Majesty wishes —”

“—I can explain,” Barry interjected. 

Leonard raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“I know I have made some errors,” Barry rushed to tell him. “It’s just, you see, I am very fond of Her Majesty and I —”

A smirk curled across Leonard’s face, and he raised a gentle hand to stop Barry from rambling. 

Barry fell silent. 

“Her Majesty wishes for you to be moved into the apartments adjoining hers,” said Leonard. “I trust this will be agreeable, given your… _fondness_ for her?”

Barry swallowed. His mouth had gone dry. She wanted him to stay? “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes — _please_.”

“Very good, Your Grace. And I shall be assigning you your own staff. As much as I have enjoyed greeting you these past few mornings, it tends to fall... outside of my regular duties.”

“Right, of course,” Barry uttered, still dazed. 

“If Your Grace is amenable, I recommend Raymond Terrill,” Leonard gestured to the young man, standing at attention. “His attention to detail is… _impeccable_.”

Barry turned to survey Ray, who he noted was blushing ever so faintly. “I trust your recommendation,” Barry answered Snart.

“Is there anything else that Your Grace requires?”

Barry thought about it. “How long will I be staying?” 

“As long as Her Majesty likes,” Leonard answered. 

“Then I should probably have my mail from Allen Manor forwarded here.”

“Of course, sir. I shall arrange it.”

“Could I speak to her?” Barry asked. 

Snart smiled gently. “You won’t have to ask any longer, given that your chambers will be adjoined. But, the Queen has gone to visit with the Comtesse du Park.”

“Oh,” Barry uttered. So it wasn’t that she didn’t wish to see him.

“Her Majesty also wishes for you to have this,” Leonard gestured to the trunk Barry had spotted earlier.

Curious, Barry rose from the chair and went to open it. Inside was a fine suit: a red jacket with gold Brandenburg ties and matching embroidery along the edges. There was also a silk vest and breeches to match the jacket.

Barry had his own share of fashionable clothes, but this was… regal. He smiled as he ran his hands over the fabric. Other concubines had been given clothes, but none so splendid as this. Privately, he was euphoric. 

“Why don’t we get you moved in?” Leonard suggested.   
  
Barry agreed happily. 

❦

Iris sat in the parlor of Park Manor, sipping hot chocolate from a fine bone china cup. “This is delicious,” she remarked to her friend Linda, Comtesse du Park. 

“I will have my staff send the recipe to the Royal Palace,” Linda replied. “I find it just _divine_ , don’t you?” 

Linda, Comtesse du Park, was a dear friend of the Queen’s and her closest confidant when it came to matters of the heart. The two women had come to share a frank and open discourse surrounding suitors and related activities since the Comtesse also entertained a rotating suite of paramours. 

Her aged husband, the Count, died a few years earlier, leaving Linda the gilded house, fabulous wealth, and all of the freedoms a young widow could enjoy. And enjoy them she did. 

“Speaking of _divine_ ,” Linda began conspiratorially, “Who was that tall glass of water from the other night?”

Iris smiled and stared out the window, thinking of Barry and how his hands and tongue had felt on her. She wondered what he was doing. Had he had as restless a night as she?

“I saw you extended him an invitation,” the Comtesse continued when the Queen did not reply.

“I did,” Iris smiled slyly. “It was the Duke of Wynsingham. His name is Barry.”

“Barry…” Linda said thoughtfully. “Isn’t he the recluse?”

“I wouldn’t call him that,” the Queen countered. “Would you?”

Linda shrugged. “He has missed many audiences with Your Highness. He was beginning to earn himself a reputation as one.”

“Hmm.” Iris sipped thoughtfully from her cup. 

“So, has he lasted the week?” Linda inquired. 

“He has,” Iris confirmed. “Although —” she bit her lip and considered her words.

“... Although?” Linda pressed. 

“Well,” Iris began again. “You know how I… so enjoy the male form.”

“I _do_ know,” Linda laughed saucily.

“And you know how my other suitors never fully let me explore that enjoyment. They were more concerned with… their own satisfaction.”

“Ugh,” Linda groaned with a dismissive wave of her hand. “The worst. You were right to discard them.”

Iris privately agreed. Things had never gotten out of hand, but it quickly became evident with both Eddie and Scott that their intimate preferences were not compatible with hers. It was easy to tell what a man was after… at least, usually it was. Barry, on the other hand, perplexed her. 

“Don’t tell me the Duke is the same?” Linda asked when Iris didn’t reply. 

Iris searched for the words. “No I — I don’t think so. But truthfully, I’m not entirely sure what to think.”

“Oh?”

“He was so… innocent all week, hardly alluding to the reason he has been summoned. And when we did have a moment alone, I thought he would be quite bashful…”

Linda waited anxiously for Iris to finish. “Go on,” the Comtesse prodded.

“Well, I started with what I usually like to do,” Iris continued. “But then…”

“Yes?” 

“He flipped me on my back and finished me with his _mouth_ ,” Iris whispered audibly. 

Linda extended her fan in one decisive flick of the wrist and fanned herself. “Without encouragement on your part?” 

Iris confirmed with a nod.   
  
“ _Mon dieu_ ,” Linda uttered.

“And he seemed to find it… _very_ enjoyable. In fact he… _also_ finished.” 

“Marry him,” the Comtesse stated. 

“Linda,” Iris laughed. 

“Immediately, I mean it.” 

“You know there is much more to choosing a consort than _that_ ,” Iris balked. 

“Suit yourself,” Linda replied, closing her fan with another flick of the wrist. “Why is it that you are uncertain? It sounds rather wonderful to me.”

“He said something afterward,” Iris explained. “Something that I would like to believe but do not wish to be blinded by.”

“What was it?” Linda asked curiously. 

“He said that he’d missed the other balls because he couldn’t bear to see me with the others. And that he had wanted to be with me, whether I was the Queen or not.”

Linda’s face grew soft. “Oh, Iris.”

“Do you think he is sincere?” Iris wondered aloud. 

“Only you can know for certain,” Linda replied. “But men rarely say such tender things after just one romp.”

Iris nodded pensively. “Do you think he would… entertain my appetites?” Iris asked her friend.

“If he is as you describe,” Linda replied. “I would be shocked if he didn’t. But Your Majesty, there is only one way to find out. You must ask him and see how he responds.”

❦

Upon being shown to his new apartments, Barry had promptly crawled into his new, comfortable bed, citing to Ray that he’d slept very little the night before. He was so relieved that the Queen wanted him to stay that he felt the urgent need to pass out. 

He fell into a deep sleep, kept warm by the fire and the heavy blankets that adorned the bed. Ray looked in on him from time to time, to stoke the embers in the hearth and put another log on the fire. Barry slept through it all.

He awoke only after the sun had long set. The sound of the main door opening jostled him from his slumber. Perhaps Ray had returned to check on the fire again. Then again… wouldn’t Ray enter from the service door? 

Barry rubbed his eyes and sat up, the blankets falling down his bare chest. He wondered for a moment if he was still dreaming, for Iris stood across the room, holding a candle. She was dressed in a gauzy nightgown, so sheer he could see her form beneath. Her hair was braided to the side and fastened with a wide silk ribbon that dangled almost to the floor.

She stood, holding his gaze for a time before she spoke. “Did you mean to tell me yesterday that you have strong feelings for me? ... And that you have for some time?”

He hadn’t meant to betray this so readily, but now that the cat was out of the bag, he couldn’t lie to her. He crawled out from under the covers and sat on the end of the bed in only his undershorts. “Yes,” he answered finally, his voice dry in his throat.

“And that you would have these feelings for me whether or not I was your Queen?” She questioned, setting her candle on the mantle of the fireplace. 

He swallowed. “You would always be my Queen,” he answered. “Whether you held the Crown or not.”

A faint smile flickered on Iris’ face as she drew closer. She touched a hand to his cheek, and he turned his chin into her, placing a kiss at her wrist. Her eyes were warm as she looked down at him with affection.

He strained his chin upward, hoping for a kiss. She bent forward to meet him, softly pulling at his lips, letting him respond with warm, soft kisses that mapped her mouth. 

“But I do wear the crown,” she said. 

He nodded, drawing his nose slowly up and down against hers as he did. “And I am your loyal subject,” he answered, with a glint in his eye and a soft smile drawn across his face.

Iris smirked, leaned forward, and whispered low in his ear, “Lie back.”

The order sent a shiver down his spine. 

He obeyed.

❦

While Barry spread himself out before her, Iris climbed onto the bed beside him, letting her nightgown drape around her as she found a comfortable spot at his side. 

His eyes were burning with a darkening fire, one that she was only too happy to fuel. 

“You didn’t let me finish what I started yesterday,” she murmured low, running her fingers beneath the fabric of his undershorts. She teased her lips against his before kissing him slowly. His mouth was warm and wet against hers as she touched their tongues together. 

They parted gently, and he whispered apologetically, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Then _We_ shall help you help yourself,” she answered with a mischievous grin. She wrung her braid through a hand and pulled the silk ribbon from her hair. “Do you trust me?”

“With every fiber of my being,” he replied breathlessly. 

“Give me your hands,” she instructed, sitting up.

He complied and held his hands out. 

“Is this all right?” She asked, bringing the ribbon around his wrists and binding them gently. 

His pupils dilated in anticipation, a raw “Yeah” escaping from his lips as he nodded. She kissed him tenderly once more before pulling his arms up over his head and fastening the ribbon to the headboard. She made sure it was secure, then slowly, tantalizingly, trailed her hands down his arms and chest. 

Barry’s mouth dropped open in a sigh, and he writhed beneath her touch. Iris smiled at the way his back arched up into the caress of her palms. This was precisely how she wanted him, vulnerable and aching. She would be gentle. She just wanted to play.

She rid him of his undergarments, exposing his long, lithe body to the cool night air. His lean muscles and creamy skin looked ambrosial in the moonlight. She admired the way his pretty, quickly hardening cock rested against his abdomen. It twitched in anticipation as she traced a pattern through the freckles on his chest. 

She ghosted a finger down the v of his hips, causing him to rock his pelvis up eagerly. “Patience,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

She planned to take her time, mouthing kisses against his chin and jaw, sucking beneath his Adam’s apple, and enjoying the groan it elicited from him. 

“Iris,” he whispered into the night air. The sound of her name on his tongue was heaven. He treated it like it was something decadent to be savored. 

The trail of freckles down his chest begged to be studied, so she traced a finger through the constellations they formed, kissing each one gently, tonguing the delicate skin, then soothing over the spot with a hand. 

She wriggled down onto her belly, positioning herself perpendicular to his hips where she could investigate the soft curve of his length and take him in her hand. She rubbed slowly, up and down, up and down, watching his face as his eyes fluttered closed and his mouth parted in hedonic sighs. 

He was so pretty like this: slowly coming undone, the flush of his cheeks spreading down his neck and chest. The dark lines of his brows and eyelashes contrasted deliciously against the pink of his mouth. Transfixed, Iris worked him steadily, enjoying taking him apart as he grew heavier and heavier in her palm. With her other hand, she caressed his chest, belly, and pelvis, massaging the places that made him quiver or that turned his breath sharp. 

“That’s it,” she coaxed as she continued to work.

“Umn,” he uttered softly.

“Like that?” She asked as her hand glided up and down his shaft.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his abs flexing as she made just the right movement. 

“You’re so good and hard for me, Barry,” Iris praised him. She loved to do this, but so few of her other suitors let her truly take control. Happily, at the sound of her encouragement, he bucked his hips up into her hand greedily, an impatient noise sounding in his throat.

“Not yet,” she said softly. “Let me take my time.”

He sucked in a deep breath and tried to steady himself. He was being such a good boy, Iris thought. He deserved a little more.

She inched forward on her belly and held his cock steady at the base, her palm resting against the flat plane of his abdomen. 

He groaned, and she sucked him into her mouth, enjoying the feel of him, full and warm on her tongue. She slid her lips down his shaft, then back again, repeating the motion as he twisted his head into his bound arms and moaned. She let him glide from her mouth with a soft pop, then licked obscenely along the side of his shaft until he was as swollen as he could be. 

“ _God, Iris_ ,” he hissed. 

“Hmm,” she chuckled, rubbing him with her hand. “You’re _so_ pretty, Barry. I just want to watch you come undone.”

She flicked her tongue against his tip, then took him all the way down to the base. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he flailed, one foot pulling up towards his hips as he arched into her. 

Iris thought about what it would feel like if he came right now, right in her mouth, how proud she would feel to have drawn the seed from him and swallowed it. The thought was making her wet. She just wanted to make him come; it would be _so_ good. 

But there was only so much she could do before she felt a dull ache in her jaw, so she let him go in favor of swinging her hip over his thigh and gripping his length in her hand. She pulled her nightgown up so that they were skin to skin. 

“Oh God, _Iris_ ,” Barry was moaning, straining against his tied hands as his body flexed and arched at the flick of her wrist. He was getting close. “Wanna touch you... _Please_ , please let me touch you.”

“Come for me first, Barry.”

“Anything…” he breathed, wrecked and panting. “Anything for you.”

Iris rocked her hips against his thigh as she tugged at him. It made her hot to make him feel good, and the friction between them could almost send her over the edge. 

Then, Barry was shaking and shuddering before seizing into her palm, spurting hot streams over his chest as he heaved low sounds from his throat. 

Smiling with accomplishment, Iris leaned over him, kissing his warm mouth, his lips softened by the afterglow of his orgasm. She reached up to untie his hands, and his arms fell to his sides as he panted. 

He looked up at her with hooded eyes like she was a miracle. “Hmmn… That — that was…” He was still catching his breath. “How do I …” he was pulling at her nightgown, trying to figure how to get it off. 

She chuckled and lifted the fabric over her head, throwing it to the side. “I suppose you’ve earned it,” she teased him. 

He let out a soft growl and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her up to straddle his face. “Your turn,” he murmured, just before his hands on her back guided her down onto his tongue. 

Iris clutched the headboard for dear life, her vision whiting out as he drove her to nirvana. 


	4. Teach Me How To Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with this next chapter! I needed to start weaving some plot points together and it took me a little while to get it right.
> 
> You might notice by now that my chapter titles are borrowed from the Shawn Mendes album "Wonder", which is my soundtrack for writing this one.

Leonard slouched over his desk, looking at the reports delivered by his intelligence officers. By all accounts, it was quiet along the Guilder border. To the untrained eye, this would have been a cause for celebration. But to someone with Leonard’s experience, something about it just didn’t click. In fact, it put him on edge. 

He pushed his chair back and ambled over to his war table. Its scaled terrain was covered in miniatures representing the forces of both Florin and Guilder, key strongholds, and strategic points of interest. 

He glanced at the report in his hand and moved the known Guilderian troops according to the new information. His eyes narrowed. They all seemed to be… retreating to the capital. 

The door between his office and private rooms creaked open and Ray shuffled out, his linen shirt hanging open casually as he yawned. “Len,” Ray croaked, “It’s Sunday and the sun has barely risen. Come back to bed.” 

“Can’t,” Len replied, moving another piece. “Something’s not right...”

Ray ambled forward, interested to see what held his lover’s attention. “Are we to expect an invasion?” He joked, upon seeing Leonard’s focus on the Guilderian troops. 

“No,” Leonard murmured. “It looks like they’ve all gone home.”

Ray thread his arms under Len’s, pulling him back into his chest. “Then what are you worried about?”

“That they’ve all gone home,” Len repeated, surveying the table analytically. 

“Leave it for now and come…” Ray placed a peck on Len’s neck, “back…” another peck, “to bed. You know Her Majesty likes to sleep in on Sundays...”

“I won’t bother her with this just yet,” Leonard mumbled, as if to himself. “Not until I’m sure there is something to report.”

“Good,” Ray replied, wrapping his hand around Len’s stomach. “Then we agree.”

Leonard made a dismissive noise. “You’ll have to attend to the Duke soon, anyway.”

“Not for another hour,” Ray negotiated, not wanting to be outdone by a bunch of intelligence reports. He let his hand fall down Len’s abdomen and beneath the waistline of his breeches. 

Len closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, finally giving in. 

“On second thought,” Ray teased as Len turned towards him with hooded eyes. “Maybe we don’t need the bed…”

❦

A warm golden light was filtering in through the gap in Barry’s curtains. The sun was high enough that he guessed it was mid-morning already, but no staff had come to wake him. Privately, he was thankful, for he had no reason to want to get out of bed. Iris was still in his arms.

In the sweet stillness of the room, he reveled in the warmth in his arms and his heart. The soft tickle of Iris’ eyelashes fluttering against his pectorals told him she was also awake. She nuzzled into his chest and he rested his chin on the top of her head. Her skin was like velvet beneath the tips of his fingers as he gently caressed her arms. 

They lay there for a time, nuzzling, cuddling, Barry planting kisses on the top of Iris’ head until she shifted to look up at him and said, “I should return to my chambers. They’ll think I’ve gone missing.”

“Probably too late for that,” he pointed out. “It must be past ten. Speaking of which… is it strange that no one has come to light the fire?”

“I let them sleep in on Sundays,” Iris explained through a yawn. 

“Oh,” Barry smiled mischievously. “Well in that case…” He pulled at Iris’ waist, encouraging her to climb on top of him. 

She chuckled, sitting up as she straddled his hips so that he could admire her in all of her glory. Just as he was running his palms up her sides (fully intending to cup her breasts in his hands), the service door swung open and Ray appeared. 

The attendant made a startled cry at having caught his Queen in such an intimate act, and promptly dropped the fresh clothes he was carrying for Barry. He fell to his knees, his head bowed to the floor. “Forgive me, Your Majesty!” He exclaimed.

Barry tensed, but Iris made no move to hide what they’d been up to. Instead, she yawned, stretched, and looked over her shoulder at the servant. “Oh, it’s all right Raymond,” she replied in apathy. “Would you get Kamilla?” 

“Of course, Your Highness,” Ray answered, scrambling to his feet, his eyes still fixed to the floor. He quickly collected the clothes and deposited them on the bench at the foot of the bed, then disappeared back through the door. 

Iris chuckled, leaning back over Barry and placing a lingering kiss on his waiting mouth. “Leonard must like you,” she told him.

He looked at her quizzically and asked, “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Ray is his favorite.” 

“His favorite?” 

“Yes,” Iris nodded, kissing him again while he held her by the thighs. “Like... how you are my favorite.” She walked her fingers up his chest and booped him softly on the nose.

Barry’s chest swelled with pride. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and flipped her over, coming to rest on top of her. “I’m your favorite?”

“Quickly becoming that way, yes,” she all but giggled. 

“Hmm,” he answered throatily, sucking at her neck. 

She arched her neck back to give him better access, letting him tend to her for a while until she pressed her hands into his shoulders and stopped him. “I shouldn’t want to scandalize Kamilla too badly,” she explained. 

“All right,” he chuckled, “I’ll get dressed.”

Iris pulled the sheet back over her and rolled onto her side, propping her head in her hand and watching him as he pulled on a pair of breeches. “Have you any plans today?” She asked. 

“No,” Barry answered with a grin. 

“Good,” she replied. “Would you spend the day with me?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Barry replied.

He pulled the shirt over his head just as Kamilla appeared at the service door, a fresh robe folded in her hand. 

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Kamilla greeted with a curtsy. The Queen’s handmaiden didn’t blink an eye, as if it were usual to find the Queen in a lover’s room in the morning. 

Barry suddenly felt that he preferred Ray’s reaction. He didn’t like the idea that this was a regular occurrence. He schooled the envy threatening to crawl across his face, trying to reassure himself that Kamilla was a professional. Surely, the reason she was the Queen’s closest attendant was that she kept Iris’ activities in confidence. 

“Morning Kamilla,” Iris replied, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and putting out her arms so that Kamilla could drape the robe around her. 

“I set out the green dress for Your Majesty,” Kamilla said, gesturing towards the door that connected Barry’s chambers with the Queen’s.

“Thank you, Kamilla,” Iris answered, securing the robe at her waist and heading for the door. “Will you let the kitchen know that the Duke and I will take brunch together?”

“Certainly, Ma’am.”

After a meal, Barry and Iris headed outside to walk through the gardens. A comfortable silence existed between them, broken only by soft glances and coy smiles. Barry tried to focus on admiring the early blooms, but he found himself distracted by Iris’ figure in her emerald green silk dress. Visions from the night before kept flashing through his mind: the feel of her hands on him, her mouth, her thighs around his face…

“Are you all right?” Iris asked, noticing his distraction.

“Yes,” he answered, clearing his throat and pulling at his collar. “I was just thinking about…” The blood rushed hot into his cheeks and he grinned bashfully, unable to say.

Luckily, Iris seemed to understand. She smiled sideways at him, flicked open her hand fan, and waved cool air into her face. 

“I didn’t get to tell you earlier,” Barry said as they approached the towering hedges of the palace labyrinth. “How happy I am to be here with you.” He meant it in all seriousness. 

Iris paused at the entrance to the maze and turned to face him. “Even after...?” She made a motion with her hands like she was tying a knot. 

Barry felt the tips of his ears go pink. “Especially then,” he replied, stopping close to her.

She reached out to straighten the collar of his coat. “You don’t mind?” She asked, resting her palm on his shoulder.

He shook his head, brushing their noses together. “If I’m being honest —”

“I prefer honesty.”

“—You could pretty much do whatever you want with me,” he whispered in her ear, “And it would make me a happy man.”

“ _ Barry _ ,” Iris teased. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I never do,” he assured her with a grin. 

“You wouldn’t want to tempt a girl,” she continued suggestively, before turning away from him and sauntering into the passageway of the labyrinth. She shot him a coquettish look over her shoulder as she sauntered forward. 

Barry stood rooted to the ground, transfixed while he watched her walk away. His skin felt hot at Iris’ implication. He thought he very much  _ would _ like to tempt her. 

He regained his senses only after she rounded the corner up ahead. He hurried to catch up, turned the corner, and found himself dismayed. She was nowhere to be found. 

Through the hedges, he heard a soft giggle and the patter of footsteps. He broke into a jog, trying to follow the sounds of Iris’ laughter as she led him deeper into the maze. He followed the path and her footsteps, chasing the hem of her skirt as he spotted it rounding another corner up ahead. 

Faced with a junction, he accidentally turned the wrong way into a blind alley and had to retrace his steps to find the right path. His pace quickened, trying to close the gap between them, listening carefully for the sound of her movements, frustrated when the greenery absorbed the surrounding noise. 

Finally, the hedges opened up into a vortex. In the center was a wooden pavilion. Inside, a staircase led up to a second-story lookout, but Barry hardly noticed this, for Iris was perched on the half wall encircling the structure, grinning at him wantonly.

He wasn’t entirely sure what her intentions were, but he knew he wanted to find out. He rushed forward, captured her face in his palms, and pressed his lips against hers. He could still hardly believe that he got to kiss her, that she wanted him to, that she’d asked him to stay for just this purpose. If kisses were what she wanted, then kisses were what Barry would give her. 

Iris hummed against his mouth and slid his coat from his shoulders. It fell in a heap to the gravel ground. 

Barry watched her eyes, studying their warmth, reading the dark intentions he found there, happy to oblige. He kissed her again, leaning forward this time, pressing her back against the wooden column behind her. 

There were far too many layers of skirts between them for Barry’s liking, but he positioned himself between her legs as he advanced, her feet lifting off the ground on either side of him. A sliver of ankle was visible at his right side and he reached down to touch the bare skin.

Iris sucked her bottom lip under her teeth as he traced his fingers up her calf to her knee, slowly pushing the fabric up and away from her legs. “Barry…” she murmured, as he massaged a thumb into the inner side of her thigh. She threaded a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair.

He rested his forehead against hers, panting for air. It was no use, she’d already taken his breath away. With his other hand, he clutched at her back, pulling her into his chest. Her head lolled back and he sucked at her neck. “Do you know what you do to me?” He breathed into her ear. 

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and shifted her hips against him. “I’ve some idea, yes,” she chuckled.

Was she toying with him? Barry couldn’t be sure, but it was fanning the flames burning inside of him. He lurched his hips towards hers, still gripping her thigh in one hand, longing to reach further, to touch her, to feel if she was slick at her center, if it was he who had made her that way. 

He wanted to feel more of her, to be closer,  _ God _ if they could only be closer… 

He reached for her other ankle, hurrying to displace the fabric, reaching her knee, thigh, then wrapping both his hands around her bum as she was revealed to him. He pulled her hips steadfast against his while she held his shoulders. They moaned at the friction as he rocked forward into her. It was the perfect height. If he unbuttoned his breeches they could be connected in a matter of moments…

“Not here,” Iris hissed in his ear as if reading his mind. 

A choked hum resonated in his throat. He nodded fervently, pausing for a moment, trying to regain his composure. 

“I didn’t say stop,” she whispered urgently.

He couldn’t help the growl that sounded in his chest. He kneaded his hands into the flesh of her backside and pulled her flush against him once more. He was overwhelmed by her, by the feel of her skin beneath his hands, by the layers of her dress surrounding them as he rocked his hips against hers, by the sounds that escaped her lips with every thrust. 

The tantalizing feeling of her soft legs on the other side of the fabric that separated them was maddening to him, making him hard in his breeches. He massaged his hands into her lower back, exasperated by the bone-lined corset that blocked him from inching his fingers higher. 

He wanted to touch her, wanted to please her, wanted to make her come. “Iris…” he hissed. Other words were swelling on his tongue, words of love and devotion and forever, but he bit them back, knowing it was too soon. Instead, he begged, “Please... may I touch you?” 

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly. 

He pulled a hand out from under her skirts, and clutched her back in gratitude, pulling her up so that he could kiss her collarbones and the swell of her breasts above her corset. Her soft skin was tender beneath his tongue, as he sucked the swollen flesh into his mouth, driven on by her quiet mewling. Impatiently, he reached back under her skirt, following the line of her thigh up to her center, where she was warm and waiting for him. 

Just as he’d suspected, she was wet with arousal. He slipped his thumb between the folds, watching her eyes and the way her mouth fell open. “Like that?” He asked, rubbing along her labia, smoothing the moisture out from her center.

“Yes,” she breathed with a nod. 

“Hmm,” he replied, ghosting his thumb over the nub of her clit, enjoying the shiver that it elicited. 

“More,” she mouthed, tilting her pelvis just so. 

He turned his wrist. With the tips of his fingers, he found where she was open for him and slowly, ever so slowly, inched two fingers inside. 

Her breath hitched in her throat as he filled her and held her steady, letting her walls clench around him, then gradually pulled back. “Yeah,” he coached her, watching the way her lips trembled and her chest rose and fell at his touch. 

He pressed back in, feeling her warmth around him, finding where she was tightest and rubbing gently. 

A little “Oh…” fell involuntarily from her lips.

“Mhmm,” he nodded, kissing her, enjoying the wet feel of her lips at his mouth while she surrounded his fingers with her heat. He built her up, gently, purposefully, steadily. 

Iris clutched at his shoulders, her fingers digging in as he found a spot that brought her to the edge. 

“You’re teasing me,” she half laughed, half gasped. 

He kissed her neck through a smile. “No,” he answered. “Just want to make you feel good.”

His fingers curled subtly inside of her, coaxing her towards the precipice. The sounds she was making were intoxicating, like music that he wanted to listen to forever, a sonata swelling into a crescendo beneath the ministrations of his fingers. Then she was pulsing, clutching at him and gasping. A tremble rocked through her body, and while it was Iris who was climaxing, a white light flashed behind Barry’s closed eyelids. 

He sucked in a breath. He’d just made the Queen come in the middle of the palace gardens. 

He felt drunk, his head swimming, his heart pounding in his chest. She was so incredible, more amazing even than he could ever have imagined. Dazed, he pulled his hand from her. Then, in a moment of complete avarice, he sucked his fingers into his mouth, tasting the sweetness she’d left behind.

“ _ Barry _ ,” Iris whispered, watching him in shock. 

But he was too far gone to be embarrassed, and now that he’d tasted her, he needed more. He dropped to his knees, mouthing at the inside of her thighs, parting them as he made his way closer to his destination.   


“Barry,” she repeated breathlessly, threading her hands through his hair. “I’ve already come.”

“I know,” he mumbled between tonguing at her outer lips. He knew by the way she shuddered as he licked into her that he could make her come again.

❦

Kamilla and Ray stood under the arches of the entrance to the gardens, waiting for the Queen and the Duke to return from their walk. They’d set up a small table with refreshments, as was customary. 

“You seem chipper today,” Ray remarked to his colleague, adjusting the pitcher and glasses they’d set out into the perfect placement.

“I am just pleased to see our Queen so happy,” Kamilla smiled. It had been a long time since she’d seen Iris in such a state of lightness. Perhaps not since her father died. 

Ray nodded in agreement. “The Duke seems like a kindly man,” he said approvingly.

“He does, doesn’t he?” 

“And beautiful, too.”

Kamilla laughed. “It certainly doesn’t hurt,” she added.

Behind them, the clack of footsteps on the marble floor announced Len’s arrival. He stood at attention beside Kamilla and surveyed the landscape. “How is it going?” He asked in a low voice.

“Quite well, I’d say,” Kamilla replied. “They disappeared into the labyrinth about a half-hour ago.” She exchanged a knowing look with Len, who eyed her sideways and smirked from the corners of his mouth. 

“Do you think he might be the one?” Ray asked, a soft expression on his face.    


Kamilla chuckled under her breath. Ray was a sucker for a love story. 

“With any luck,” Len replied. 

“Did you arrange this?” Kamilla asked curiously. 

“I don’t make the Queen’s decisions for her, if that’s what you’re asking,” Len deflected gently.

“Of course not, but you  _ do _ have some influence,” she observed.

“As do you,” Len replied. 

“The Queen and I have been friends since childhood,” answered Kamilla. “You’re her most trusted advisor.”

“On matters of state, not on matters of the heart.”

Kamilla laughed. “When it comes to choosing a consort, the two are not mutually exclusive.”

Len smirked but didn’t answer. 

“So why him?” Kamilla asked. 

Leonard’s bright blue eyes scanned the horizon calmly. “Wouldn’t it be nice to officially reintegrate Wynsingham with Florin?” He mused. 

Kamilla thought about it. “Their marriage would mean Wynsingham would no longer be just a protectorate,” she followed his train of thought. “Which would bolster our position against Guilder.”

“Are you sure you have no interest in sitting on the council?” Leonard needled her.

“I prefer soft diplomacy,” Kamilla answered. 

Beside them, Ray straightened as he peered into the distance. “They’re coming back,” he observed. 

Sure enough, Barry and Iris were emerging from the maze. Their clothes and hair seemed disheveled, even from a distance. They couldn’t seem to stop laughing as they approached. It warmed Kamilla’s heart to see their hands intertwined as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

“Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he is rumored to be in love with her,” Leonard added as they watched the happy couple approach. 

Kamilla smiled. It was all she ever wanted for the Queen: to find some happiness within the bounds of royal duties. She quietly resolved to try to support them any way she could. 

“Keep me posted,” Len instructed.

Kamilla nodded before he disappeared back into the palace. 

❦

Matters of state kept Iris busy throughout the following week. There was much to be done: going over the kingdom’s finances, approving new expenditures, canceling old ones. Grain needed to be transferred to one of the northern provinces, where a long winter had led to food shortages. Snart wanted to send more intelligence officers to the Guilder border, which she approved. Her advisor had good instincts and one always needed to keep an eye on Guilder. 

Then there was an audience with her father’s old advisor Singh. He wished to remind her that an heirless throne was an insecure throne… blah blah blah… 

Iris knew all that already. She’d find a consort, marry him and produce an heir when it was right for  _ her _ . 

_ Or maybe _ , she thought bitterly,  _ I won’t, just to spite Singh _ .

In the evenings, after they’d dined and played cards or listened to the palace musicians perform, she’d escort Barry back to his apartments, where he was only too willing to help her unwind after a stressful day. He let her play, content to be bound with silk ties to the corners of his four-poster bed, while she focused on him with her hands and mouth. It was exciting to her, how much he trusted her, how willing he was to entertain her proclivity towards control. No one had ever submitted so readily before. 

Whenever he finished and she untied him, he never hesitated to return the favor. The way he touched her made her head swim, made her forget that she liked to be the one in charge. To her surprise, she was comfortable handing over the reins. She trusted him, felt safe in his embrace, knew that when he touched her, kissed her, licked her, it was in the interest of her pleasure. 

Looking back, she wasn’t sure she’d ever completely trusted her previous companions. They’d never felt serious to her. They were entertainment: a little fun to amuse her until she tired of them, or they grew too eager for the status she could have bestowed upon them. She’d felt she needed to keep them at arm's length, to always be the one in command. And if they couldn’t take it, she’d ended things. 

Barry hadn’t asked about her intentions once. A part of her was relieved that he appeared to be living in the moment. Another part of her wondered why he wasn’t more curious. Didn’t he want to stay? 

With the week over, she decided to take a bath and try to relax. In the stillness, her mind wandered back to Barry. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him. It wasn’t just daydreaming about what they might do the next time they were alone — although there was plenty of that. It was also this swelling feeling in her chest: how she couldn’t wait to tell him about her day, how she wished she could share the secret business of her council with him and ask him if she was making the right choices. He seemed like he would have good advice. It sounded like he managed his own province deftly.

She had to remind herself it had only been a couple of weeks. She shouldn’t get in too deep, too fast. What if this didn’t work out? Perhaps a night alone was what she needed. 

The large, canopied bed in her chambers beckoned. She climbed in, ready to turn in for the night. But sleep eluded her, no matter how hard she tried. She lay there, wide awake, unable to get the Duke out of her head. A vision of Barry’s beautiful body spread out before her kept interrupting her thoughts. She thought about running her hands down his athletic chest, about working his long, pink cock until it was hard and heavy. She thought about what it might be like to climb on top of him and let him fill her to the hilt.

She’d never rushed into that final act, but she kept thinking about it with Barry. She couldn’t help but let a hand slip beneath her covers to find her center while she pictured what it would be like to ride him, the way he would clutch at her and call her name until he spilled inside of her. 

That last part was prohibited. At least, unless she’d chosen him to be her husband. Maybe it was the forbidden nature of it that made it so appealing. She’d thought of it more than once since he’d arrived, of what it would be like to finish together, connected in every way. 

She threw back her covers with a huff. This was ridiculous. What was she doing fantasizing about her desires when she could just as easily act on them? She climbed out of bed and headed for the door that adjoined her apartments with Barry’s. 

The corridor between their rooms was dark, but a soft warm glow of firelight framed Barry’s door. He’d left it ajar, perhaps as an invitation. She nudged the door open to find him sitting in an armchair in front of his fireplace, reading a letter, an amused smile curled on his face. 

When he looked up and found her standing before him, his face lit up in a heavenly way. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hi,” she replied softly, taking a seat in the chair opposite to him. 

“Letter from Cisco,” he explained, waving the paper in his hand. “My dear friend had an amusing mishap with a contraption he’s building to mechanize the milking of cows. Milk everywhere.”

“Sounds messy,” Iris laughed. 

“He’ll get it in the long run,” Barry said. “He’s a genius.”

“You miss him,” Iris observed.

Barry folded the letter in his hands and placed it on the small table beside his chair. “He’s like a brother to me,” he explained. “We grew up together, started working on inventions together when we were all but fifteen… got into all kinds of mischief over the years...”

Iris chuckled. “Perhaps we should extend an invitation to him,” she offered.

Barry studied her. She’d seen the look before but was unable to discern exactly what he was thinking.

“...for him to visit you, here?” She added when he didn’t respond. 

He smiled softly. “That would be nice.” 

“I’d like you to feel at home here,” Iris said.

“I do,” he said, reassuringly. 

“Are you sure?” She pressed, eyeing his lap. She wanted to curl up in it, to be close to him. 

“I’m sure,” he replied, extending a hand to her as if reading her mind. He pulled her forward and she transferred herself into his lap, her arms falling naturally around his shoulders. 

“It’s just…” she began carefully. “You never ask me anything… about our arrangement.” 

She looked down into his eyes. She’d seen them turn all shades of green during their time together: some innocent, some awed, some heady with desire. If she didn’t know any better, this particular shade seemed vulnerable. 

His hands tightened around her waist and he made a small shrug that was too labored to be nonchalant. “I said I was happy to be here with you, didn’t I?” 

“You did,” Iris agreed.    


“I meant it,” Barry answered. 

Iris bit her lip. It had annoyed her when others had pressed her to share whether or not she intended to make them her consort, so why was she pushing Barry to do the same? “Do you have any questions for me?” She asked delicately.

He adjusted his arms around her and stared into the fire. “Do I make you happy?” He asked at length. 

Iris blinked. That wasn’t exactly what she’d been expecting. “I—”

He waited patiently for her to answer. 

“I was asking… I mean — I meant...” She wasn’t usually one to babble, but he’d caught her off guard.

His eyes fell. 

“Hey,” she said, regaining her words and pulling his chin up with a finger. “You  _ do _ make me happy. It just wasn’t the question I was expecting, that’s all.”

The concern on his face softened. “What were you expecting?” 

She hesitated. “Most… want to know if I intend to make them Consort to the Queen.” 

A new shade of green flickered in his eyes at the mention that there had been others, something vivid and envious. He blinked it away so quickly she almost missed it, but she saw it. Jealousy. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to know so soon,” he answered gently, tucking a curl behind her ear, then threading his fingers up into her hair as he held her neck. “Besides, it’s not my decision, is it? All I can do is try to be good to you.” 

Something melted in Iris’ chest, and she leaned forward to kiss him. It was sweet and soft, tender in a way that they hadn’t kissed before like everything was delicate and breakable. 

“I just want to be with you,” he whispered, drawing back and brushing her nose with his. “I don’t care how.” 

She nodded, kissing him again. It was the same thing he’d told her last week, and she was finally letting herself begin to believe it. The way he spoke to her made her feel soft. She could even almost forget that she was Queen and that he was a subject, summoned at her will. It made her feel like they were just a man and a woman, sharing something singular and intangible. 

“I want to be with you,” she answered, meaning it in every sense. 

He seemed to understand, for he hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her in his arms as he stood from the chair. He carried her towards the bed, kneeled on the bench at its foot, and gently lowered her onto the mattress. She kept her hands on his neck, kissing him sweetly, a nervous anticipation pumping through her veins. 

He stood back for a moment to undress. She watched, content to watch as he shed the fabric from his alabaster skin. She admired the way his skin was pulled taut across the musculature of his abdomen and the way it was dotted with freckles like constellations on a pale sky. Seeing him like this always filled her with warmth and desire. 

He rounded the bed, heading for the nightstand where they’d taken to storing the silk ties in an ornate wooden box. But when he opened the lid and handed it to her, she pushed the box back into his hands. 

“Not tonight,” she said.

He gave her a quizzical look but put it back on the nightstand. “What did you have in mind?” He asked her curiously as he crawled onto the bed beside her. He lay back, resting a hand casually behind his head. 

She pulled her nightgown up and over her head, then dropped it over the edge of the bed. “Would you like to...” she explained her meaning with a coy look. For emphasis, she ran a hand up his leg, then reached to stroke his already hardening package.

“You’re sure?” He asked. 

Iris nodded, biting her lip as she continued to rub him. 

“Then  _ yes _ ,” he answered breathlessly, reaching for her and pulling her on top of him. He sat up so that he could kiss her sweetly and wrap his arms around her back. 

Iris wondered for a moment why she’d ever bound his hands away when they felt so amazing on her. He was gentle and tender with her, made her feel safe and adored. The warmth of his palms soothed her skin as he ran them from her thighs, around her bum, up her back, then down along her sides, before repeating. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he told her, between kisses to her jaw and neck. 

Between them, she reached for his cock, rubbing steadily, making sure he was ready. Then, with a kiss, she lifted her hips up and sank down onto him, unable to help the small gasp that escaped her lips at the sensation of him filling her.

He groaned in reply, falling back to the mattress as if he could no longer keep himself up. She steadied herself with her palms on his chest while he held her thighs. Slowly, she began to rock her hips, chasing the friction and the pleasure that it brought her.

His hands were steady on her, gripping her and following her rhythm while he choked out unintelligible sounds. “Ah,  _ Iris _ , God…”

She loved the sight of his face in ecstasy, the way he relaxed and let his eyes fall shut, the way his mouth parted and turned pink, the way his brows knit ever so slightly when they found a good spot. But nothing compared to the way his eyes shot open like they were illuminated, driven by some internal energy as he sat up again and clutched her back, meeting her thrust for thrust as she rode him with panting sighs. 

He sucked sloppy kisses at her neck and collarbone, gentle grunts escaping his mouth with every push and pull. The sound was the most erotic thing Iris had ever heard, and she wanted to hear it forever, to feel his body against hers, inside of hers, propelling her towards bliss. 

Then, inexplicably, it wasn’t enough anymore. She wanted more of him, wanted to feel his weight, wanted to be overwhelmed by him. 

“Barry,” she whimpered urgently.

“Yeah?” 

“Can we switch?” 

“Yeah.” He gripped her hips and flipped them over, never losing the contact between them, adjusting them into the right place, bringing his knees up so that he could find that sweet spot deep inside of her.

This was new for Iris, being on her back. But somehow, letting go and feeling his strength surround her was everything she needed. 

An involuntary moan escaped her lips as he slid a hand under her bum and rocked down into her. 

“Like that?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Feels good.”

“Feels amazing,” he breathed. “ _ God _ Iris, I just want to make you come, please let me make you come.” He chanted into her ear.

She hooked her ankles together over the small of his back, drawing them still closer together as he slid along a spot that was hot and rigid inside of her. With every shift it tightened, until finally, she was clenching around him, rippling waves of hot blood pulsating out from her core to the tips of her fingers and curling her toes. 

He slowed their rhythm, stroking her through her orgasm, shivering involuntarily as his own peak drew near. “I’m close,” he breathed, “I have to —”

He pulled out abruptly, Iris missing his weight and the contact immediately. He wrapped a hand around his length, gripping himself hard as he caught the seed pulsing forth just in time.    
  
Iris watched, mesmerized, hot blood filling her cheeks as she watched him come this way, totally undone, his chest and cheeks flushed red, his brow knitted in pleasure as he panted, his skin glistening with sweat. 

She crawled forward to kiss him, wrapping an arm around his neck, enjoying the plush feel of his swollen lips against hers. 

He rested his forehead against hers, still fighting to catch his breath, panting through a dopey smile as he kissed her again and again. 

“I should…” he muttered, gesturing with his hands.

She nodded and let her arm slip from his shoulders as he got up to go to the washbasin to clean his hands. 

She lay back in the warm bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and sank into the mattress. When Barry returned, he crawled in beside her. She curled over his side and wrapped an arm firmly around his waist. 

“You said there weren’t any other girls,” she said slyly after a moment. “But I don’t believe you.”

He chuckled, drawing his fingertips up and down her arm. “Why’s that?”

“No one makes love like that without experience,” she answered knowingly.

“Hmm,” he hummed, content with the backhanded compliment. “None that mattered, then.”

Iris placed a peck on his chest. “Come on then, indulge me,” she directed. “Or no more sex.”

He pulled his head back and surveyed her. “You wouldn’t,” he remarked. 

“Wouldn’t I?” She teased, batting her eyelashes.

“Fine,” he sighed, “But you must promise not to be angry.”

“Why would I be angry?” She feigned. 

He rolled his eyes. “All right… well… there was Lady Becky when I was but seventeen…”

“Lady Becky?” Iris balked. “Of the Cooper line?”

“Yes,” Barry replied sheepishly. 

“You could have done better than that…” Iris griped. 

“See, this is why I didn’t want to say anything,” he protested.

“Fine, fine. I won’t judge,” she promised. “What happened there?”

“Well…” he shifted awkwardly beneath her. “My parents were murdered by highwaymen… and after that, I just… wanted to be alone for a while.”

“Oh, Barry,” Iris said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was how they died.” 

She held him warmly, studying his eyes and the way they turned glassy. 

“It was a long time ago,” he said, unconvincingly. 

“Doesn’t make the pain go away,” she replied. “I miss my parents every day.” 

He nodded, pulling her in for a soft kiss. 

Then, like he flipped a switch, he smiled and said, “Weren’t you heckling me about something?” 

“Yes,” she replied, twisting in his arms and splaying herself across him. “Your former lovers.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “Well… then there was a milkmaid, Patty —”

“A milkmaid!” Iris exclaimed, unable to repress her laughter.

“ _ Iris _ ,” Barry objected. 

She fought to quiet her laughter. “I know, I know, I said I wouldn’t… but at least tell me she was appropriately buxom.”

“I’ll have you know she was very pretty,” he said indignantly.

At this Iris’ face dropped involuntarily. 

“ — But nowhere near your beauty,” he added quickly. 

“Is that right?” She goaded him.

“The honest truth,” he assured her. 

“Hmm… well. You surprise me, Your Grace. I never would have taken you for the sort of lord who takes advantage of his milkmaids…”

“I didn’t — it wasn’t — she wasn’t  _ my _ milkmaid. We met in a pub.”

“A public house!” At this, Iris burst into another fit of giggles.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he rolled his eyes.

“ _ Really _ Barry,” she chided him. “You have one of the highest stations in all the land and this is how you choose to court?” 

“It wasn’t like that… I didn’t plan on it… Cisco and I were attending an inventors conference and she just happened to be there…”

Iris continued to try to stifle her laughter. “Well,” she said at length. “Perhaps I shouldn’t laugh. I’ve never even been to a public house.”

“Never? Not even while traveling?”

“Heavens, no!” She replied. “I stay with the landed gentry when I travel.”

“Oh right,” he laughed. “I guess so…”

She chuckled and rested a cheek on his chest. “I have been curious though… about how normal people meet one another.”

“Well, a pub is a pretty normal place for most people,” Barry answered. “Even for some peers.” 

“Hmm… maybe in Wynsingham,” she giggled. “But I could never see the Comtess du Park in a pub.”

“Perhaps not,” he laughed.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“To go to a pub?” She asked, sitting up and watching him with curiosity. 

“Are you serious?” 

She nodded. 

“Why don’t we go, and you can see for yourself,” he said as if it were the plainest thing in the world.

She laughed until she saw his earnest expression. “You can’t be serious,” she replied. “How would I do that? They’d never let me.” 

Barry shrugged. “So, sneak out of the palace,” he said simply. 

“What?”

“I said, sneak —”

“I heard you, I just didn’t — How would I… Would you come with me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t let you go alone, now would I?” Barry grinned. 

Iris shot him a bright smile. “All right,” she agreed, settling back down on his chest. “Let’s do it.”

“It’s a plan,” he agreed.

“But first, you have to tell me what happened with Patty,” she giggled.

He sighed good-naturedly. “Not going to let that go, are you?”

“No,” she confirmed.

“Well,” he began. “She wanted to get married and I… didn’t.”

Iris’ heart sank. “Are you opposed to matrimony?” She asked without looking up at him. 

“Not at all,” he replied softly, running his palms over her arms. “I just believe marriage should be rooted in deep affection — in love.”

She traced a finger between two freckles on his abdomen, thinking that she liked the sound of his ideals, and wishing that it could be that simple for her. 

“Thank you for telling me about Becky and Patty,” she said, nuzzling into his chest and yawning. “I’ll order their execution in the morning.”

“No you won't,” Barry laughed, tickling her sides and tackling her playfully. 

She squirmed and cackled beneath his teasing hands, until the torment subsided into kisses and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down into her. 

She placed a firm kiss on his forehead as he stilled above her. "You know Barry," she began, a seriousness falling between them. "If you ever want to talk about your parents, I'm here. I understand what it is like to lose those you love."

Sadness and relief simultaneously washed over his eyes. "Thank you," he nodded. "I know you do."


	5. Higher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta reader for the proofreading and help with the action scenes :)

Ray carefully brushed the lint from Barry’s shoulders as he donned his dinner jacket. 

“Tell me, Ray,” Barry asked. “If I needed something, would you be able to arrange it?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the attendant replied, pausing to pick the lint from the brush.

Barry was working on a plan to sneak Iris out of the palace. Nothing too wild, just a jaunt to the nearby inn and tavern. He and Cisco usually stayed there when they came for a royal ball, preferring the local vibe to lodging at the stuffy manor of a fellow peer. 

Step one of the plan was that he and Iris would need to look the part. The challenge was Iris’ royal wardrobe. 

“I need a commoner’s dress,” Barry replied, fixing his collar in the mirror. 

Ray’s eyes met Barry’s through the reflection for the briefest of moments. “Of course, sir,” Ray answered, unphased. “In your measurements?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s quite all right sir,” Ray assured him, “I can be discrete.”

“No — it’s… it’s not for me,” Barry stammered, waving his hand quickly. “It’s actually… well, the Queen’s measurements would be preferable.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Ray’s mouth. “Very good, sir. I shall arrange it.” 

“Thank you, Ray,” Barry replied. “And,” he added in a low voice, “Best not to mention this to anyone.”

“Certainly, sir,” Ray replied with a wink.

❦

Ray made good on the arrangements by the end of the week, delivering an inconspicuous package wrapped in brown paper to Barry’s room before dinner on Thursday. 

Barry took the package from Ray’s hands excitedly. It was time for step two; bringing in his co-conspirator.

He slipped through the passageway connecting his chambers’ to Iris’ and knocked on the door. “Come in,” came her breezy reply. 

He pushed the door to her dressing room open, where she was seated at the vanity, Kamilla styling her hair. 

Barry cleared his throat. “Hey — um, Kamilla?” He asked. “Could we… have a minute?”

Kamilla nodded, “I’ll take your day dress down to the laundry, Ma’am.” 

“Thank you, Kamilla,” Iris replied gently, before rising from the poof. She looked stunning in an ivory gown dotted with pearls. 

“Wow —” Barry breathed, forgetting for a moment why he’d come.

Iris chuckled. “Did you come to gawk or was there something else?” She teased him.

He shook his head. “No, it’s just... Here, I got you something.” He stepped forward and offered her the package.

She took it, eyeing him and the brown paper curiously before tugging at the twine that secured it. “A commoner’s dress?” Iris asked, bewildered as she unwrapped it.

“For our plan?” He reminded her. “Our outing to the local pub.”

“Oh!” Iris laughed. “You were serious?”

“Weren’t you?” He replied. “I mean, you said you were curious. And we can’t really sneak you out wearing one of your own dresses. You’ll have to blend in.”

“How did you even get this?” Iris asked. 

Barry rubbed the back of his neck. “Um… Ray arranged it for me.”

“Did he indeed?” Iris asked skeptically. 

“Yeah.”

“Does he know it was for me?”

“Unclear,” Barry answered. “There may be a slight possibility that he thinks it's for… some sort of... foreplay? At first he thought I was the one who wanted to wear it…”

“ _ Barry _ ,” Iris warned.

“He said he could be discrete! And look, we could use that to our advantage. Why don’t you tell the staff that we’re going to skip dinner tomorrow and have a night in? Yeah? Then when they think we’re otherwise occupied we can sneak out…”

“You’ve really thought this all through, haven’t you?” Iris replied. 

Barry watched her turn the linen petticoats and suede stay over in her hands, a bemused look on her face. “All right,” she conceded, chuckling. “I’ll tell them. But honestly, Barry, you get me to do the craziest things…”

“You love that about me, though, don’t you?” He murmured, reaching out for her hips and pulling her in for a kiss.

“Perhaps,” she teased.

❦

Iris stood in front of the mirror in her dressing room. Kamilla had left her earlier, having done her hair in a loose braid, ready for a ‘night in’ with Barry. Shortly after, Iris had changed out of her night gown and into the shift of the plain dress Barry had given her. Now, she was staring confused at the other pieces of the garment. It was so unlike her usual attire, and she couldn’t figure out which of the spartan petticoats went first. Not to mention that the stay was unstructured and seemed so insubstantial.  _ How did it even work?  _

She huffed in frustration, then gathered the various pieces in her arms and slipped through the passageway into Barry’s room.    
  
She found him almost ready, dressed in simple breeches, a plain white shirt, loose at the collar, and a dark red leather jacket. He looked like a handsome young bootstrapper, out to make his fortune in life and have a good time doing so. 

“This was a bad idea,” she complained, dropping the stay and petticoats onto an armchair. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, as he finished adjusting the collar of his jacket.

“I don’t know how this dress works,” she pouted dramatically. She knew she was exaggerating, but she couldn’t help it. She was out of her element. It was only adding to the growing doubt she felt about this plan.

“All right, all right,” he chuckled. “I can probably help. Let’s see here…” He sorted through the various pieces, looking at the shift Iris had on, then the suede stay. “I think this goes next,” he said, picking it up and helping her thread her arms through the appropriate holes. He adjusted it around her rib cage, then laced it beneath her breasts. 

“And then the pockets and petticoats,” he narrated, fixing the next few layers on her studiously. 

“How do you know all this?” Iris asked. “Don’t tell me it was your milkmaid.”

She noticed the tips of his ears go pink as he pulled the final petticoat down over her head and adjusted it around her waist. “Still jealous, are we?” He deflected. 

“I do  _ not _ get jealous,” she answered sharply. “I am the  _ Queen _ .”

He chuckled as he finished tying the skirt, then stood back to survey her.    
  
“Well?” She asked, unable to read his face as his eyes stayed fixed on her body. “What is it? Do I look that awful?”

“No,” he answered, his voice gravelly as he stepped forward with outstretched hands. “Your boobs look amazing.” 

In truth, she wasn’t used to them being so exposed. The stay barely covered her breasts, but instead pushed them in and up from the sides and bottom, leaving the gathered fabric of her linen shift all that was covering them. 

Iris swatted Barry’s hands away. “Oh no you don’t,” she teased. “If you do that now, we’ll never get out of here.”

He cleared his throat. “Right,” he agreed, regaining his composure.

“But thank you,” she added as an afterthought.

He grinned. “Right, are we ready?”

Iris held her arms, watching Barry adjust the cuffs of his jacket. “I think Ray forgot something,” she said.

“Oh?”

“I’ll need a cloak,” she answered.

“He didn’t forget,” Barry answered, his face dropping. “I didn’t ask him for one.”

“It’s all right,” Iris replied. “I might have something.”

She turned and headed for the passageway that adjoined his room with her dressing room, motioning for him to follow. She opened the doors of the large wardrobe and rifled through the fine garments hanging inside. “Will this do?” She asked, pulling out a plain black cloak. It was the least decorative of all her options.

“It is a fine fabric,” he answered, holding a corner of the cloak in his hands. “But most wouldn’t notice unless they were looking closely.”

She nodded as he took it from her hands, swung it around her shoulders, fastened the tie at her neck and raised the hood.

“Ready?” He asked, grinning impishly. 

“Ready,” she replied. 

He grabbed her hand then led her out of the service door, into the back passages of the palace. It was time for step three. 

Iris fought to stifle her giggles as they raced along the servants’ hallways, pausing in nooks and crannies at the sound of approaching footsteps, holding their breath until the danger of discovery had passed. At one point, they had to take cover behind a statue of one of Iris’ ancestors, pressed chest to chest with one another as two footmen went past. Iris could feel Barry’s heart racing in time with her own, and it sent butterflies fluttering through her stomach.

She followed him as they raced down a set of stairs, never losing the grip she held on his warm hand. A rush of excitement and anticipation flooded her veins. The thrill of getting caught made her want to laugh uncontrollably. Finally, they reached a side door that led out onto the cobblestone avenue at the side of the palace. Barry cracked it open to check if the coast was clear. 

With no one in sight, he paused, turned to her and said, “On the count of three...”

Iris nodded fervently, still suppressing her giggles. 

“One… two… THREE!”

They burst through the door, hand-in-hand. They barrelled up the avenue, hardly daring to look back. She clutched her hood, fighting to keep it up as the cool spring breeze threatened to force it back down onto her shoulders. She couldn’t help it now, the laughter was spilling out of her. 

They ran as fast as they could, heading for the safety of the main street that intersected the road up to the palace. As they reached it, Barry veered them to the left, rushing them forward until they at last reached a lamp post halfway up the street. When he finally slowed, Iris halted and doubled over, panting. 

“Did anyone see us?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder. The road was empty.

“I don’t think so,” Barry answered, a relieved smile on his face. 

“Good,” Iris replied, still fighting for air. “Where to now?”

“We wait here for a few minutes,” Barry answered. 

“Is that wise?” Iris said, glancing around the darkened street. She had never been out of doors this late without some sort of escort. It was at once both thrilling and slightly disconcerting. 

“There will be a hackney carriage along any moment,” he explained. “We’ll take it into town.”

“A hackney carriage!” She exclaimed with some alarm.

Barry laughed. “We’re  _ regular _ people, remember? Regular people use public transport.”

“I don’t think I am cut out for this,” Iris mumbled. 

“It won’t be so bad, I promise,” he assured her, fixing the draping of her cloak and adjusting her hood. 

Sure enough, the familiar clip-clop of a team of horses drawing near announced the arrival of the coach. Barry flagged down the driver, who hopped off the back of the carriage dutifully. 

“How far ar’ya going?” The driver asked gruffly. 

“Just to the Crimson Comet,” Barry answered. 

“That’d’be a shilling each.”

It was only then that Iris realized that she didn’t have any money on her. In fact, she’d never had to carry money before. The treasury took care of any purchasing on behalf of the crown. Thankfully, Barry didn’t seem phased. He just reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out two shillings, then an extra to give to the driver. 

“In ya get,” the driver announced with a smile, opening the door to the carriage. 

Barry gestured to Iris that she should go first, offering her a hand as she climbed the step into the cab. 

“Why did you give the driver extra money?” Iris asked as she climbed into the carriage. 

“It’s called a ‘tip’,” Barry explained. “It’s something a little extra for a job well done.” 

“So,” she said quietly, “For a job well done you get… just the tip?” 

Barry’s ears glowed red and he glanced quickly at Iris. She grinned mischievously in reply. He was awfully cute when he was blushing.

Inside the carriage, Iris took a seat across from the other two passengers already inside: an older man who smelled vaguely of cabbage, and a young woman in a pretty blue dress and grey cloak. 

The older man eyed her curiously, so she drew her hood lower over her face. 

“Good evening,” Barry greeted him conversationally as he took a seat beside Iris. 

The man nodded, and let out a large belch in reply. Thankfully, his attention turned out the window as the carriage started off down the road. 

Iris found herself drawn to the young woman, her golden hair tied up in a gaily with an azure ribbon. 

“Are you doing something special this evening?” Iris ventured to ask her.

The young woman looked over and grinned. “I’m meeting my friends. We’re going to the theatre to see the latest musical act, a trio out of County Starling called the Black Canaries.” 

“I know them,” Barry put in, smiling. “They’re a great group. The singer is amazing.” 

“I’ve been wanting to see them for ages. It should be really fun!” The young woman nodded eagerly. “And you?” 

“We’re headed to the Crimson Comet,” Iris replied. 

“Oh! That’s one of my favourite spots,” the woman returned. The carriage rattled to a stop, and the driver opened the door. “This is my stop. I’m Kara, by the way. I hope you have a great evening!” 

“Nice to meet you, Kara,” Iris replied as the young woman stepped out of the carriage. 

As they continued on, Iris turned her gaze outward. She was used to seeing the town from a carriage. It was rare that she had the opportunity to experience it any other way. Save for the odd public speech, she had little reason to visit. For a brief moment, she felt a tinge of envy for Kara, and the freedom she enjoyed. 

The feeling was soon replaced by butterflies flitting in her stomach and an eager anticipation as the shops and houses grew more dense around them, the atmosphere livelier and more populated. She was surprised at how alive it made her feel to be amid the hustle and bustle of the palace city streets. 

“Almost there,” Barry said softly as the carriage turned at a busy crossroad. 

Iris nodded, still watching the passersby with curiosity. 

The carriage halted abruptly in front of a ramshackle timber frame inn. A sign with a painted crimson streak and loopy gold lettering swinging above the door announced that this was indeed the Crimson Comet. The cab lurched as the driver hopped down and pulled open the carriage door. Barry nimbly alighted, offering his hand to Iris as she moved to do the same. 

Barry thanked the driver, who nodded in reply before climbing back into his seat at the rear of the cab. He snapped the reins and the carriage took off into the night to deliver its other passenger. 

Iris surveyed the building before them. The sound of merry-making could be heard inside, but the crown glass windows obscured her view of the scene. Above them, the upper stories of the inn jettied out like they might topple over at any minute. 

“Shall we?” Barry asked, offering her his elbow.

Iris smiled and happily took his arm. 

He pushed the heavy oak door to the tavern open. A rush of warm, humid air blew past them as they entered. Laughter and music filled Iris’ ears. She pushed her hood back so that she could take a good look around. 

At the far side of the large front room, a band of hurdy gurdies, flutes, drums and violins droned out a folksy tune. The floor shook beneath them as revellers stomped out a longways dance. 

A smile crept across Iris’ face as she took it all in. It was like a ball at the end of the night, when everyone was three sheets to the wind, but messier. She found herself laughing, the merriment infectious.

“What do you think?” Barry asked beside her, his hands on his hips.

“It’s wonderful,” Iris answered. 

He smiled, then grabbed her hand. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get a drink.”

He led her through the crowd, down a hallway and into a backroom that opened up into the tavern proper, packed with tables and people. A large bar wrapped around the left side of the room. Servers were busy tending to their patrons, rushing back and forth to pull pints for impatient customers. 

Barry nudged his way into an open space at the bar, bringing Iris along with him and holding her waist protectively as he leaned across the counter. 

“What’s that?” Iris asked, pointing to the amber effervescent liquid that poured from the taps. 

“Have you never had a pint of ale before?” He asked with a curious grin.

“No,” she answered sheepishly. “Wine is more usual at the pa— at my house.” She corrected herself quickly, noticing the peering eyes of an onlooker. 

“And I prefer brandy,” he admitted. “But, you only live once, right?”

She nodded cheerfully just as the bartender turned to them.

“Two pints of ale,” Barry ordered, placing a couple of coins on the counter. 

The bartender nodded, then reached for two glasses. They watched him as he held the glass at an angle, artfully avoiding gathering too much foam at the top. He slid one pint across to them then poured the other. 

Barry pushed the glass towards Iris, who took it tentatively and sipped. 

“Well?” He asked. “What do you think?”

“It’s bitter,” she answered, raising her voice so that he could hear her over the chatter of the tavern. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant. She took another sip. “It tastes a bit like drinking bread!” 

Barry laughed as the bartender delivered his drink, then clinked his glass against hers. “Cheers,” he said.

“What are we toasting?” Iris asked cheerfully, watching as Barry scrunched his face pensively.

“To a night of freedom,” he answered.

“Freedom,” Iris agreed, and they sipped in tandem, her eyes never leaving his. 

At that moment, a strong arm clasped Barry’s shoulder and a deep voice announced, “if it isn’t my old friend, Barry Allen!”

Barry whirled around in surprise. A tall man stood before them, solidly built, with a rugged, stubble-lined jaw. He was clad in various shades of green, save for his brown leather hunting boots. An emerald green hood was pulled low over his face. 

“I think you may have mistaken me for someone else, my friend!” Barry exclaimed loudly, and then more quietly he said, “Oliver, what are you doing here?” 

“Me? What are  _ you _ doing here?” Oliver questioned. “And being all… sneaky.” 

Barry moved slightly so that Oliver could see Iris standing behind him. “I’m here on a date with…” 

“With…” Oliver craned his neck over Barry’s shoulder. His eyes fell on Iris and widened in recognition. 

Barry stepped back so that all three could more comfortably talk. “May I present my old friend, Sir Oliver Queen, of County Starling,” he said. “This is…” he had to think up something quickly “Lady Iris… of the West County.”

Oliver bowed slightly as he took Iris’ hand in his. He kissed it gently. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, and then added in a whisper, “Your Highness.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Iris replied. “And how do you know Bartholomew?”

“Our parents were friends growing up,” Oliver explained. 

Iris nodded in recognition. “The Queen family… your father was lost at sea, wasn’t he?  _ The Queen’s Gambit, _ yes? I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you for those kind words. If it had been an act of nature I would not be here tonight, but I fear that human hands played a role,” Oliver said darkly. 

“You have a lead then?” Barry asked. 

Oliver nodded. “An agent of Guilder. I am to meet a contact here shortly for more information.” 

Iris and Barry exchanged a look. 

“In that case, we will not keep you,” Iris said. “Stay safe.” 

“I will, thank you,” Oliver said to Iris, again bowing slightly. He turned to Barry. “It was good to see you my friend.” He smiled. “Have fun tonight.” 

“Thanks, Oliver.” Barry smiled. “Until we meet again.” They clasped hands, and then Oliver stepped back and melted into the rollicking wave of the crowd. 

Around them, old friends and family met one another, the young and available eyed one another surreptitiously across the room, servers danced between tables delivering plates of the daily roast. A roaring fire in a large hearth at one end of the room kept the scene awash in a soft, warm glow. 

Iris eyed the plates of food being served. The presentation was lacking, but it smelled amazing. Her stomach rumbled. They’d missed dinner after all. “Can we try some of that?” She asked, pointing to a piping-hot meat pie.

“Of course,” Barry smiled, grabbing her hand and leading her to a free dining table. 

It wasn’t long before a young maiden with a messy bun arrived with menus in hand. Iris stared at the paper list of food curiously. “Are these the courses?” She asked.

Barry chuckled. “Not exactly. You pick what you want and we tell our waitress,” he explained, taking a sip from his pint. 

“Oh,” Iris nodded. 

When the waitress returned, Iris just pointed to the lady who had ordered the meat pie. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

“Right,” the waitress answered, “And for you, sir?”

“The same, please,” Barry smiled, handing his menu back. 

As they waited for their food, Iris continued to people watch. She never got to be this close to her subjects, and she was taking every opportunity to listen. A voice caught her ear, and she zoned into it, noticing Barry do the same.

“...Well  _ I  _ heard Her Majesty’s latest beau is quite a dreamboat,” a man gossiped. 

“The Duke of Wynsingham? Isn’t he supposed to be a string-bean?” A woman replied incredulously.

Iris exchanged a look across the table with Barry. Thankfully, he seemed to be more amused than anything. 

“When will she put us all out of our misery and just choose a husband, already?” Another woman complained.

“Girl, let her have her fun,” her friend replied. “Sometimes you have to play the field before you find someone to settle down with.” 

At this, Iris found herself unable to meet Barry’s eye. Did he know the pressures she faced when it came to finding a husband? Surely he must have some idea. He would be confronted with similar attitudes as the Duke of a major province. Still, he’d never let on that he was bothered by outside opinion, or felt rushed to commit to someone. Was he still playing his own field? Would he be interested in commitment if she offered it to him?

She resolved to put it out of her mind, at least for the evening. They were here to have fun. 

❦

Barry sat, smiling and laughing with Iris after they’d finished eating. He enjoyed seeing her so free and light. Beyond their intimate moments, it was the first time he’d seen what was beyond the carefully constructed facade of the sovereign. There was a playfulness about her that was thriving in the casual environment of the pub. A sudden thought struck him. 

“Do you want to dance?” He asked, offering a hand to her across the table. 

She blinked, looking down the hallway towards the sound of the music. “I don’t know the steps,” she admitted bashfully. Country dancing was not fashionable at the palace.

“They’re easy to learn,” he assured her. “I’ll show you.”

“All right,” she nodded, taking his hand and following him back to the front room. 

The band was just beginning a new song as they entered, the sound of which elicited whoops and hollers from the crowd, as if it were an old favorite they’d been waiting for all night. New dancers rushed to the floor while others filtered out in need of refreshment. Barry recognized the tune, and knew why people were excited. It started out slow, but began to build into a fervor. 

“C’mon,” Barry laughed, pulling her to the end of a row of people. 

He showed her how the dance began, standing opposite one another, clapping, until they stepped forward, then back again, then swung around each other’s arms. They do-si-doed with the couple next to them, bobbing with the rolling rhythm of the music and the beating of the drum. 

He grabbed her hands and they sidelled down the row, encouraged by the jubilant cheers coming from their fellow dancers. When they reached the end, they reformed the line, standing opposite and clapping, ready to repeat the steps. 

The fiddle drove them on, the tempo increasing with each turn, until they and the other dancers were scrambling to keep up with the pace. Barry took in the sight of the joy on Iris’ face, laughing as they pranced and spun, slowly losing the ordered decorum of the steps, until it was only a mad rush to keep up. 

He held her hands as he spun her around, her head falling back in glee. Everything seemed to disappear around them as they reeled. She was always beautiful, but something about the smile on her face, the pure delight in her eyes filled him with warmth. There was a part of her, he knew now, that was open and wild and carefree. He wanted to see more of it. 

The drum rolled into a swelling crescendo, the fiddle sawing away at its strings, the hurdy gurdy droning out its tinny tune. They grabbed each other’s hands once more, and sauntered up the line in one last mad rush as the music soared into a rousing finale.

The crowd roared in a thunderous applause, shaking the very walls of the inn, and Iris doubled over in laughter as she tried to catch her breath. 

“See, not so hard,” Barry chuckled, reaching out for her waist, and pulling her close. 

“No,” Iris agreed, nudging her nose against his. “But it  _ is _ fun!”

The band started up again, another buoyant melody ringing out. 

“Can we go again?” Iris asked eagerly, her dark eyes glinting in the firelight. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Barry answered, taking her hand.

An hour later, when Barry was sure they’d covered every style of country dancing, they fell into each other's arms, panting and sweaty, laughing and joyful, endorphins coursing through their veins from the dancing and the music. 

Thankfully, they met no one else who seemed to notice the Queen or Duke in their midst, although one older lady did stop them at one point to tell them what wonderful dancers they were. Iris replied that it was easy to dance well with a good lead. Barry blushed profusely. 

When they could dance no more, they shuffled out of the crowd, back down the hall towards the bar, eager for refreshments. 

Iris fanned her face as they waited for the bartender to pull them another round of pints. “I’m sure I look a sight,” she laughed.

“You look amazing,” Barry answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

Iris rolled her eyes as the bartender brought them their drinks. Barry took the glass from the counter, resting on a barstool and watching Iris as her warm eyes scanned the room. 

“Is it everything you’d hoped it would be?” Barry asked quietly.

“Better,” Iris replied. “My father used to enjoy a stop at a tavern while he was travelling, but I was never allowed to go. Now I can see why.”

“Oh?”

“No one notices me here,” she said, her eyes glittering with relief. “It’s like I can disappear. Just for a little while.” 

“Do you often want to disappear?” Barry asked. The thought worried him somehow.

Iris sipped her ale pensively. She was about to reply when someone bumped her back. She lurched forward, spilling a bit of her drink down her front. Barry’s eyes went wide, first in surprise, then in amusement, and finally in fear for whomever had caused the mishap.  _ No one _ spilled anything on the Queen. 

Iris sputtered, ready to turn and give whoever it was the angriest stink eye anyone had ever received. “I beg your pa—”

“Oh my goodness!” A light and airy voice rang out. “I am  _ so _ sorry!” 

Iris turned to see a bubbly woman, her blue eyes sincere and apologetic. The woman reached for her handkerchief and made to dry Iris off, but Iris, unused to being touched by strange hands, waved her away. “It’s — it’s all right,” Iris managed to say, reminding herself that she was in disguise. 

“I’m a terrible klutz,” the woman continued. She clearly hadn’t meant any harm.

“Sara, what have yeh done now?” A large, burly man growled beside her. 

Barry had to keep himself from laughing. The man had the most ridiculously large cavalier hat he had ever seen, with a plume of scarlet feathers. 

“Oh Mick, I’ve just gone and spilled this lovely lady’s drink, I’m  _ so _ sorry,” Sara repeated. Then she paused, her eyes fixing Iris’ face in a way that Barry could see was making her uncomfortable. “Have we… have we met before?”

“Um, no, I don’t think so,” Iris replied, looking panicked.

“Are you sure?” Sara pressed. “I swear I know your face from somewhere…”

“She just… has one of those faces,” Barry interjected. “But it’s impossible. We’re just visiting — on business.”

Mick surveyed them inquisitively. “What sort of business are you in?” He asked. “I’m an aspiring business-man myself.”

Iris looked pleadingly at Barry.  _ Help _ , her eyes implored him.

“It must be something very profitable, to have a cape such as this,” Sara continued, examining the fabric of Iris’ cloak.

“We’re — uh, tailors!” Barry supplied with the first thing that came to mind. “Uh -- she’s a dressmaker. I’m a tailor.”

“Yes,” Iris agreed. 

“Oh!” Sara exclaimed cheerfully. “Well that explains the high fashion. Do you have a shop somewhere?”

“Uh, no,” Iris replied. “We’re… by appointment only.”

“Ohh,” Sara replied nodding, her face impressed. 

“Yes,” Iris continued before Barry could stop her. “We’re just in town on appointment to the palace.”

“ _ The palace _ ?” Sara repeated, fascinated.

It took all of Barry’s self control not to let his head fall into his hands. This was not a good cover story. 

“I thought that other tailor was the only one at the palace?” Mick grunted. “What’s his name… Rathborough… Rathman…”

“Rathaway?” Barry supplied.

“Yeah, him,” Mick grunted. 

“Oh well… some of the courtiers were looking for more recent styles, which are our  _ specialty _ ,” Iris provided. 

“Say, I’ve been quite interested in the latest styles of dress,” Sara chirped to Iris. “What would you recommend for me?”

Iris shot a look at Barry like as if to say,  _ I’ve got this _ . He replied with an encouraging wink.

“Well the wide hoop style is quite fetching and would flatter your figure,” Iris replied happily. “And something in white, I think.”

“Really?” Sara asked, “I’m just not sure if it’s really  _ me _ .”   
  
“Nonsense,” Iris replied. “You’d look amazing.”

“I don’t suppose your appointment at the palace means Rathaway’s been ousted?” Mick asked Barry quietly.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Barry replied. “Why would he have been ousted?”

Mick shrugged. “Little twerp’s always going back and forth between here and Guilder, bragging about his contacts all over the continent. It’s bound to get him into trouble at some point.”

Barry hummed thoughtfully. Did Iris know that her tailor was travelling to and from Guilder on the regular? 

“What sort of business did you say you were in, Mick?” Barry asked casually.

“I’m a romance novelist,” Mick announced proudly.

That was certainly not the answer Barry had been expecting.

❦

By the end of the evening, when they’d both had far too much ale to worry about being discrete, they found themselves in the nook by the end of the bar, canoodling. It was getting late, and much of the clientele had gone home for the evening. Iris knew they should consider doing the same, but she didn’t want the night to end. It seemed like Barry didn’t want it to, either. Every time she mentioned the thought of them returning to the palace, he fixed his hands on her and kissed her ardently. “Just a few more minutes,” he’d say.

Iris knew that they shouldn’t be so amorous in public, but she couldn’t help it. The ale had given her a warm and fuzzy buzz, which only heightened the usual feeling of magnetism she felt towards Barry. If his palms on her were any indication, he felt the same. 

“Did I tell you how amazing your breasts look in this dress?” He rasped, dragging a finger just under the edge of her neckline. She couldn’t blame him. She was sitting on his lap, his eyes level with her cleavage.

“Yes,” Iris replied breathily, as his hands wandered to cup her softly. “I think you did mention something to that effect.”

“Hey!” growled the gruff bartender, interrupting them. “We’ve got rooms upstairs for that. Why don’t you pay for one, eh? Otherwise....” He made a thumbing motion toward the door.

Iris giggled into Barry’s shoulder at the scolding. She wasn’t used to getting in trouble. No one at the palace would ever have said anything if she decided to be ‘hands on’ with Barry in plain view. She knew this was not the way the rest of the world worked, but she couldn’t help being amused.

Now, a rational person would have taken the bartender’s interruption as a sign that they should turn in for the night. But for whatever reason, Iris could see that Barry had taken it as a challenge. He shifted her on his lap so that he could fish in his pockets for some coins. He slapped a gold florin down on the bar counter. “We’ll take your finest room,” Barry replied.

Iris’ eyes went wide. “Barry!” She hissed in his ear. “I am  _ not _ your whore.”

He grinned back at her, pulling her back into place by her hips as he strained his mouth up to kiss her again. “No,” he breathed hotly in her ear, “but _ I am yours _ .”

It shouldn’t have turned her on, but it did, waking something hot in the pit of her belly. 

With a roll of his eyes, the bartender took the coin and slid a brass key across the counter into Barry’s waiting hand. “Room five,” the tapster grunted. 

“Thank you,” Barry nodded, grabbing Iris’ hand.

The sound of the music and the chatter below slowly disappeared as they made their way down a hallway and up a set of stairs towards the inn’s rooms. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Iris giggled as they reached the top of the stairs. 

Barry giggled back and pressed her into the wall, kissing her desperately. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, happy to accept his eagerness, returning it in equal measure as she pushed him off of her, then up against the opposite wall. 

His eyes turned dark as he looked down at her. “Wha—what are you doing?” He teased her in mock surprise.

“Kissing you,” she replied, pushing up on her tiptoes to meet his mouth with hers. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Shouldn’t we — um —” he motioned with his head down the hallway towards room five. 

“What?” She smiled, “I think a little PDA between a  _ Queen _ and her  _ concubine _ is all right. People should  _ know _ you’re a taken man.”

“Yes, please take me,” Barry breathed, enraptured as she kissed him again. 

Somehow they managed to make it the rest of the way down the hall, barely able to keep their hands and lips to themselves. As they reached the door to room five, Iris focused on kissing Barry’s neck and nipping at his earlobe while he fumbled with the key. Despite her best efforts to keep him distracted, he managed to unlock the door. They tumbled inside, the door swinging shut with a loud thud behind them. 

It had barely closed before Iris was pushing his jacket from his shoulders. “You looked so hot tonight, baby,” she mumbled between kisses. “This jacket… whew!”

He chuckled in reply, untying the cloak from her neck and letting it drop to the floor. Then, he did what she knew he’d been wanting to do down in the bar: he pulled the linen gathers of her dress down over her breasts, exposing her skin to the warm air of the cozy bedroom. 

He was so attractive when he was assertive like this, and Iris found she loved the way he tended to her: like she was the most amazing thing in the world. She let him back her up against the dresser. He lifted her by the thighs, encouraging her to sit on top of it while he ducked his head to suck on her nipples. 

“ _ Jesus _ , Iris,” Barry groaned as he pecked and nibbled at her soft mounds. She let him kiss and suck while his hips rutted into her pelvis. It was all making the blood rush hot between her legs. She threaded her hands through his hair, pleased to muss his usual neat look while he pawed madly at her. 

“I  _ need _ you,” he breathed urgently, clutching at the round of her bum. He always sounded half-wrecked when they were intimate, and Iris couldn’t get enough of it. 

At his words, she rushed to unbuckle his belt, while he pulled at the ties of her petticoats. They managed to discard the superfluous layers from their bottom halves, Iris seizing Barry’s cock in her hand the moment it sprang free from his breeches. She mused for a moment that she would never tire of his beautiful length. She wanted it to be hers forever. 

“ _ Please _ , Iris,” he pleaded in her ear as she worked him. “I just want to be inside you.” 

“Mhmm, Barry,” she replied, pulling him closer, lining him up with her center. “Need you inside of me.”

He pressed himself forward, sinking slowly into her as she adjusted her hips at the edge of the dresser.  _ There _ , that was the perfect spot, just the right height, comfortable enough that she could wrap her legs around him as he buried his head in her neck and began to rock steadily into her, both groaning at the feel of each other.

She wrapped her bare legs further around his hips, pulling him closer to her as she adjusted around him. This was how she wanted him: deep and steady, filling her with constant pressure. 

There were still too many layers between them. She slipped her fingers under the hem of his shirt, and pulled it up over his head, sliding her hands down his naked back, clutching at the firm flesh of his ass as he thrust deeper. She let out a little “oh!”, just as he hit a particularly good spot. 

“Like that?” He asked. 

“Yeah, uhn, feels good.”

He pressed his forehead against hers and held the back of her neck with one hand, while he held her bum in the other, still rocking them, chasing the rhythm between them and the feeling of ecstasy that made their mouths drop open between sloppy kisses. Beneath them the dresser groaned and thumped against the wall. Neither cared if they might be disturbing the neighbours. This.  _ This _ was the only thing that mattered. 

She came with a cry, her whole body seizing, her toes curling as her orgasm pulsed through her. 

Barry hardly lost a beat, his hips quickening at the sight and sound of her pleasure, panting his own throaty groans. “I’m close,” he warned. 

Iris didn’t move her hands from his back. She held him to her, some part of her still wanting them to be connected, wanting him to finish when they were as one. 

But he dutifully pushed off of her at the last second, clutching his cock in his hand it spasmed, spurting white streams. He staggered backwards, knees weak and fighting for breath, a hazy smile painted on his face. 

Iris leaned back against the wall, panting. In that moment she thought,  _ Picking Barry Allen from the crowd was the best thing I’ve ever done _ .

Her legs felt like putty, but she managed to slide off the dresser and adjust the shift back around her breasts. 

“Oh,” Barry pouted, returning to her after cleaning himself off in the washbasin. “Don’t put those away just yet.” He grinned impishly.

Iris couldn’t resist his smile. “Oh?” She asked. “Why’s that?”

He made a point of slowly untying the laces of her stay, then slipping the suede restraint from her ribs and shoulders. He pulled the delicate shift up her torso and over her head, dropping it in a heap on the floor. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, running his palms over her exposed skin. 

“You always say that,” she replied demurely. 

“It’s because it’s true,” he told her with certainty. He took her hand in his and pulled her towards the four poster bed. “Come lie with me.”

Iris was happy to oblige his invitation. They climbed under the sheets of the bed where it was warm and soft. She found a comfortable place, slotted against his side and savoured the feel of his smooth skin against her own, the tips of his fingers on her spine as he traced gentle patterns on her back. 

It was the first moment she got to really take in the room. It was cozy, smaller than those she was used to, but pleasant. Someone had lit a fire in the hearth earlier in the night. It was burning low now, but still washed them in warmth and a golden light. The four poster bed was handsomely carved from mahogany that matched the dresser where they’d just made love. 

She still felt fuzzy from the ale and the sex, but she was starting to sober up. Still, the whole evening felt like a dream, like she’d had the chance to live someone else’s life for a night. Someone with less responsibility than the Queen of Florin. 

“Barry?” She whispered into the quiet of the room. 

“Mhmm?” He replied sleepily. 

“Thanks for taking me out tonight,” she said. “It was fun.”

“It  _ was  _ fun,” he agreed, just before they both drifted off to sleep.

❦

The grey light of early morning filtered through the crown glass windows of the rented room. Barry stirred. As he came to, he rubbed Iris’ arm, which was strung across his stomach. They’d slept for a few hours, but now it was high time to return to the palace before they were missed. 

She hummed sleepily, indicating she’d rather stay in bed. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “We should get back.”

Iris rolled over and yawned. “Oh, all right,” she replied. “I guess I shouldn’t give Leonard a heart attack.”

Barry chuckled softly. 

They climbed out of bed and dressed in their clothes from the night before, helping to fix one another’s garments and trying to smooth out the wrinkles as best they could.

Iris eyed her hair in the mirror. It was a mess. She tried her best to rebraid it, but it wasn’t as neat as Kamilla’s usual styling. “My hair looks awful,” she sighed. 

“No it doesn’t,” Barry assured her, placing a peck on her nose. “It looks lovely.”

She was sure he would say that no matter what she looked like. The thought both filled her with warmth and made her wish he could be a little more objective. 

Ready to make the trek back to the palace, they departed from the inn, depositing the brass key to their room on the empty service counter as they left. 

A faint mist hung in the cool air of the empty streets. Given the time, it would be hours before they were bustling with the usual traffic. 

“If we hurry, we can grab the first carriage back towards the palace,” Barry said.

Iris nodded and pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head. 

He grabbed her hand and led her through the city streets. The quarter around the inn was reasonably well kept, but as they pressed further into the city, making their way towards the carriage station, their surroundings became more rough around the edges. The shutters upon the houses here were cracked and faded, the rooftops missing shingles, and the road more mud than cobble. Many of the shrouded windows had iron bars across them.

Barry’s eyes were keenly alert as they walked, vaguely aware of the shadows lurking in dark corners of the alleyways they passed. He was starting to feel like they were being watched, although maybe it was just his imagination. He hurried them on as fast as he could, eager to keep them moving lest they meet any danger. 

“Barry, what is this place?” Iris asked, her voice tinged with sadness as she took in their surroundings.

“Bowery Lanes,” he answered. “Best to keep moving.” 

She nodded and hastened to keep up. Iris wondered how part of her capital city had fallen upon such harsh times.

Up ahead, they turned into a narrow alley. It was the most direct route to the carriage station, and Barry was eager to get them there as fast as he could. 

As they picked their way through the refuse-lined alley, he noticed Iris’ eyes scanning the impoverished surroundings. It widened before opening into a small courtyard, piles of crates and old barrels scattered about. Several other alleys led out of the courtyard. Barry’s eyes narrowed. He could just see the roof of the carriage station pressing up from the next street over. He urged Iris onward.

Suddenly, they both jumped at a rustle of movement behind a pile of old crates. As they cautiously edged forward, the dim light of the early morning revealed a young mother with two children, huddled beneath an old gray blanket. The blanket was strung between two crates in an effort to create a makeshift shelter. 

“Spare a copper for some food?” The woman asked as her eyes met Iris’. Her own eyes were desperate, her children shivering as they burrowed against her sides. 

Iris gave Barry a pleading look. He nodded. 

“Here,” he said gently, kneeling down. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out all the coins he could spare. Barry handed them over to the mother who nodded gratefully. 

“Are you all right?” Iris unfastened her cloak from her neck and swung it around the family. “How did you come to be here?”

The woman opened her mouth to respond, but just at that moment, two shadows in Barry’s peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned his head to see the figures of two large men skulking toward them. They were clad in rough-hewn leather jerkins, and coarse, stained hoods. 

“That’s a nice cloak to just be givin’ away,” one of them grumbled as they drew near.    


“Iris,” Barry whispered urgently, reaching for her elbow as she tended to the children. 

“Makes us think there’s more where that came from,” the other man added, his voice harsh and nasal. His eyes fell on the pitiful shelter where the mother and her children sat huddled. “Oh, and look at this, more patrons to make a donation to us, eh?”

The young woman and her children looked in alarm at the approaching ruffians. Her fearful eyes met Iris’. 

Iris turned to face the two scoundrels, her voice was like steel, “ _ You _ need to leave.”

The two men stopped and glanced at each other in uncertainty. That had not been the response they expected. But then, the two men grinned darkly, revealing rows of yellowing teeth. 

Barry and Iris heard heavy footfalls behind them. They glanced over their shoulders to see a third ruffian walking up towards them. 

“Three against two,” the one with the nasal voice stated. “Bad odds.” 

“For you,” Iris replied, her jaw set. 

“Trust me boys,” Barry added, going back to back with Iris. “You don’t want to try anything stupid.”

“Who said anything about stupid?” The biggest, hulkish one asked. 

“Yeah,” whined the one with the nasal voice. “Who you callin’ stupid?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Barry replied, readying his fists. 

The three men laughed as they closed in. Suddenly, the biggest one lurched forward, taking a lumbering bear-swipe at Barry. 

Barry broke sideways, artfully dodging the blow. He wheeled around and sent a lightning-fast haymaker into the hulking man’s jaw, sending him reeling backwards. 

Before the one behind them could make a move, Iris leapt forward. She whirled about, her skirts twisting into a tornado as she issued a roundhouse kick that connected with the smaller man’s chest, sending him flying backwards into a pile of crates. 

The nasally-voiced man had hung back while his two fellows had been dealt with. Now, he pulled a jagged-looking dagger from his tattered cloak and stepped menacingly forward.    
  
Barry’s eyes widened. “Don’t you think that’s a bit unnecessary?” 

“What?” The man grinned sardonically. “You only brought your fists to a knife-fight?”

Before the man could take another step, there was a sound like tearing paper, and a single arrow sliced through the air. It connected with the dagger with a  _ ping,  _ and sent it flickering from the ruffian’s hand. The man crumpled to the ground, holding his injured hand to his chest. 

Barry and Iris’ eyes shot upward. There, perched upon the rooftop was Oliver, cloaked in emerald-green, a hunting bow held in hand. 

“The Emerald Archer!” Barry exclaimed with a grin.    
  
Oliver winked and then leapt away and out of sight. 

One of the other men groaned and tried to get to his feet. Then, much to Barry and Iris’ surprise, the young woman they had been protecting stepped forward and sent a swift left hook into the man’s jaw, sending him right back to the ground.

Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats upon the cobblestones sounded from behind them. The Royal Guard thundered into the square, with Leonard at their head. Immediately, the guardsmen dismounted and pinned the three scoundrels to the ground. The royal carriage pulled in behind them a few moments later. 

Leonard dismounted smartly and marched over to Iris and Barry. “Well your highness,” he said. “Taken to street-fighting have you?” Leonard’s icy-blue eyes went to Barry. “Is this our good Duke’s influence?”

“My subjects needed protecting,” Iris stated unapologetically, motioning to the stunned woman and her children. 

Leonard’s features softened somewhat. “As you say, your highness.” He glared at the three ruffians writhing under the boots of the other guards. “Did you know that assault on the Queen carries a sentence of death?” He asked. “Or life in the tower if you’re lucky.” He added nonchalantly. 

The three assailants whimpered from their place on the ground. “We didn’t know it was  _ Her! _ ” One protested. “We were just looking for some coin, we ain’t got no work!”

“Perhaps you can work off your crime then by helping re-cobble our roads,” Iris replied. 

“Take them away,” Leonard ordered.

The guards hauled the three men from the courtyard. 

Iris turned to the young woman, who was now kneeling awkwardly before her Queen, her two children at her side. Iris smiled. “Are you all right?” 

“Yes… your highness,” The woman managed to get out. “In answer to your question earlier, I used to be a maid in a lord’s household. However, when my lord lost his wealth due to gambling, we were tossed out into the street. We’ve no home and no work.” 

“The royal palace is always in need of good, honest hands,” Iris said. “Would you like to come work for me there?”

The woman’s eyes shone with tears. “Yes, Your Highness!” She said eagerly. 

Iris looked to a pair of her guards. “See to it that this woman and her children find a good meal and a place in the palace where they can earn their keep.” 

“As you command, Your Highness.” One of her guards replied, taking the family in tow. 

With that done, Iris turned to Leonard, who had been silently waiting. 

“ _ Len _ ,” Iris said softly. “Thank you.”

“Your Majesty,” Leonard nodded curtly, ever the professional. “Your carriage awaits.”

Iris nodded, then headed for the carriage door as the driver held it open for her. 

Barry started after her, but was stopped by Len’s hand on his chest. 

“You and I are going to have words when we get back,” Len stated, fixing Barry with icy eyes.

Barry held his gaze, but nodded without protest. He knew Len had good reason to be angry.

When Barry finally climbed into the cabin of the carriage, he found Ray sitting across from the Queen, looking sheepish. 

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Ray said repentantly. 

“For what?” Barry asked, as Leonard climbed in after him and took the seat beside Ray. 

“For spilling your little secret,” Len snapped. 

Beside Barry, Iris fixed Leonard with an indignant stare. “We had it handled,” she said, dismissively. 

“ _ Did you _ ?” Leonard bit back. “You could have fooled me!”

Barry and Ray’s eyes widened in shock at Len’s reproach. 

“What were you  _ thinking _ ?” Len continued. “Going out unattended?! All night!? Almost getting yourself—”

“ _ Enough! _ ” Iris exclaimed. 

Leonard fell silent, and Iris turned her gaze out the window. The carriage lurched forward and they headed out of the square and out onto the main street.

“And  _ you _ ,” Len muttered at length, his eyes turning towards Barry. 

Barry avoided his eyes, preferring to look at Ray who remained sympathetic. 

“I expected better from you,” Len murmured.

Iris sighed. She turned her gaze on Leonard. “It was my decision to go out and mine alone. If I hadn’t wanted to go, Barry never would have taken me.”

“I was terrified for you, Your Majesty,” Len replied, and for the first time Iris saw what looked like fear in his eyes, if only for a fleeting moment.

“You can’t really blame them, can you?” Ray said, patting Leonard’s arm. “They just wanted to have some fun.”

“ _ Fun _ must come second to the safety and the security of the Crown,” Leonard replied. “Especially given that Guilder is planning something.”

“What do you mean?” Iris asked sharply.

“I was waiting to tell you until I could confirm it,” Len answered with a sigh. “A few weeks ago, all of the Guilderian forces began retreating back to their capital.”

“Surely that’s a good thing,” she replied. “Fewer troops near the border means there is less chance for our forces to engage in a skirmish. Perhaps this is a shift towards a lasting peace.”

“Perhaps that is true,” Len explained, while Barry and Ray listened closely. “However, our intelligence network has indicated that agents of Guilder have infiltrated the Wynsingham Woods that straddle the border. 

Iris listened intently.

“Moreover, an envoy was seen departing from Thawne Castle two days ago,” Len continued. “As I understand, his orders are to bring a message directly to  _ you _ from Prince Thawne, my Queen.

“I fear the Greeks, even when they bring gifts,” Barry said, quoting an old saying.

“Indeed,” Leonard agreed. His blue eyes looked to Iris. “Your Majesty, I fear your life may be in danger.”

**Author's Note:**

> I always love to read your comments! Drop me a line :)


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